


Honour is a luxury I cannot afford

by Moher



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon up to S08E04 War Council, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Gen, POV Daenerys, POV Sansa Stark, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-04-05 05:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moher/pseuds/Moher
Summary: “She has already outsmarted you before, yet you are underestimating her once again. Tell me, Your Grace, is the Iron Throne more important to you than your own subjects?”______________________________Sansa Stark refuses to bow down during the war council, and against all expectations she convinces Daenerys Targaryen to heed her advice.It changes everything.





	1. Chapter I - The War Council

“You’re making a mistake.”

Daenerys turned her gaze back on the Lady of Winterfell, forcing herself to restraint her frustration. Why was she so determined to ostracise her after everything she had done for the North? She had bled for them, her own men and one of her children had died for them, and now that it was time to put her on that damn throne Sansa was pulling back.

She looked at her advisors, daring them to say something, yet none of them spoke. They all accurately avoided to cross her gaze, but at the same time none of them looked like they were truly disagreeing with Sansa Stark. The only ones who were clearly on her side were Grey Worm and Missandei, with the latter shooting a blatant glare at the lady of Winterfell. While she appreciated the support, she also made a short gesture to prevent her friend from saying anything. It was a battle she had to fight on her own, otherwise she would never gain the respect of her new subjects.

“Lady Stark, as much as I do appreciate your advice, this matter is not up for discussion” she replied, in the most commanding voice she could muster. Apparently that was not enough, judging by her obstinate expression.

“Your Grace, our men… northeners, knights of the Vale, and even your Unsullied, need time to rest. Forcing them to march to King’s Landing without any repose would be suicide” urged again Sansa, undeterred. “And your dragons too. They were badly wounded during the fight against the Night King, and Cersei will certainly target them first. She knows she has no chance of victory unless her armies are able to take them down, and she will surely set a trap for us. We cannot allow her to outmanoeuvre us.”

Daenerys clenched her jaw, furious. She glanced briefly at Jon, who looked entirely focused on studying the map of Westeros rolled in front of them; she opened her mouth to retort, dangerously close to losing her temper, but the Lady of Winterfell anticipated her again.

“There is literally no one else who would pledge to Cersei at this point. She has the Golden Company, whose aid will be fairly expensive, and Euron Greyjoy’s fleet. She doesn’t have the funds to employ other mercenaries, and none of the great Houses are supporting her” said Sansa, blatantly ignoring Daenerys’s crescent ire. “The people of King’s Landing might even depose her, as Tyrion was saying earlier, if Cersei doesn’t ensure they are fed. Even if we gave her more time, she would only squander her coins in paying the Golden Company and provide for the city.”

“So you would have me hide like a coward, while Cersei empties the Crown’s treasure to pay those who will fight against my people?”

“Yes, since it’s the right thing to do” hissed Sansa. “She has already outsmarted you before, yet you are underestimating her once again. Tell me, Your Grace, is the Iron Throne more important to you than your own subjects?”

The silence that followed Sansa’s act of defiance was almost deafening, and for a moment Daenerys was speechless. _How dare she…_

“If I may, Your Grace…”

It was Lord Royce who had spoken, stepping forward as if he was physically trying to separate them. “Lady Stark is correct in her assessment. Our armies are exhausted, our equipment need repairs, and while your dragons tip the scales in our favour, the Lannisters have already found a way to fight them.”

 _It is true_ , realised Daenerys immediately. “The ballistas.”

Lord Royce nodded. “Yes. We have to assume Cersei has built enough of them to be able to fight your dragons on a even ground. She might have installed scorpions all over the walls of the Red Keep, which would make extremely difficult even for you to storm the throne room. As Lord Snow was saying we will need to siege King’s Landing, and it will not be an easy feat. We have no siege weapons, and without the support of the Riverlands we will not be able to create a supply line to provide for our troops and cut off Cersei’s. Not that it will make a lot of difference, unless we find a way to protect your dragons.”

Daenerys felt her rage cooling down, replaced by a sense of dread. She had already lost Viserion, and she could not bear the thought of losing another one of her children… especially not to Cersei Lannister. No, she decided, Rhaegal and Drogon would be kept as safe as possible.

Yohn Royce moved across the room, pointing at the map with his index. “We have a port at Dragonstone, yet we cannot hope to avail of any naval advantage. Euron Greyjoy’s fleet is stronger than our own, and he is more experienced than any of us; even if you recalled Yara Greyjoy we would still be at a disadvantage, which means we need to bring this fight to the land, where our forces are even.”

“It is also true that Euron has already surprised our fleet before” conceded Tyrion, finally sharing his opinion. “Perhaps travelling to Dragonstone with the Unsullied and the Dothraki might not be such a good idea. The sea is too unpredictable, and we cannot afford to lose even one soldier. We also have not received any raven from your seat for a while, which could mean it was lost to us.”

Lord Royce made an imperceptible gesture of approval, without losing his sour expression. “It is a possibility. My advice would be to reach King’s Landing by land, rather than by sea. And if we intend to march there… then we should heed Lady Sansa’s suggestion and let the men rest, for the city will not fall easily. And only a fool would start a siege without being sure they can finish it.” concluded the Lord of Runestone. Daenerys had never heard him speak for so long, and judging by the looks of everyone else she was not the only one surprised.

“Mayhap we will not need to siege the city. When Maegor the Cruel completed the Red Keep he commanded to build many different secret passages and tunnels, and I happen to know some of them. If Cersei has not discovered and blocked them, we could infiltrate inside King’s Landing.”

Lord Varys had finally interrupted his silence - not that she was particularly glad to hear what he had just said. _Of course the Spider has some information he decided to not share until the very last second._

“Secret passages?” repeated Daenerys, sighing deeply to restraint herself from losing her composure. “Pray tell, my Lord, couldn’t you have mentioned them earlier? Perhaps at the beginning of the conversation, rather than wait until now?”

The Master of Whisperers seemed to shrink under the fury of her gaze, and Daenerys wondered - not for the first time - when her advisors had suddenly lost the ability to provide actual good counsel. At least it seemed the Lady of Winterfell was sharing her disbelief, judging by her displeased expression, matched by Lord Royce’s blatantly outraged face.

“While this information would have certainly been useful earlier, we should focus on the matter at hand” intervened Jon, without holding back a annoyed glance towards Varys. “We might have a way to access to the castle, but we still need to plan accordingly. What do you think of Sansa’s suggestion, Your Grace?”

Daenerys grit her teeth, watching as everyone in the room stared at the Lady of Winterfell with something akin to endorsement in their eyes, and knew she had lost that particular battle.

“It seems the idea has its merits” she conceded, swallowing her pride. To her credit, Sansa didn’t look particularly smug - not that it was much of a solace for her.

“Thank you, Your Grace. As I said before, rushing to King’s Landing will solely benefit Cersei” cautioned again Sansa, her voice softer than before. “I only aim to do what is best for you and the realm.”

Jon casted her a almost reproachful look, as if he was cautioning her from pressing the matter further. “The North will follow you, my Queen, no matter what you choose.”

Daenerys didn’t miss the barely perceptible sigh from Sansa Stark once she heard Jon reaffirm his oath. _He’s still loyal to me_ , she thought with a certain satisfaction, which made it easier for her to say her next words.

“Speak with the officers, Lady Stark. We won’t leave Winterfell until our armies are fully rested.”

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Daenerys stood on the battlements, staring at the fields surrounding Winterfell. They were still covered in snow, yet the northeners kept saying spring would come soon; she sure hoped so, for she was already missing the heat of Meereen. Not that the temperature would be the same, but at least she wouldn’t constantly feel as if her fingers were ready to fall from frostbite.

It was the day after the disastrous war council, and her mood had considerably improved. They had ended up agreeing on giving the troops some time to rest, then march to Riverrun and liberate the castle in order to be able to create a safe supply line from the North. Once that was completed, they would finally move to King’s Landing and siege the city - their intention was to use the secret passages Varys had spoke about, but the Master of Whisperers was not sure Cersei had not discovered and destroyed them. Getting her crown would take more time than she had thought, but she had already waited twenty years - a few more weeks would not kill her. At least, that was what she kept repeating herself. She had swore she would not become the queen of ashes, and she intended to keep that promise.

Jon had tried to speak with her the night before, but she had rebutted all his attempts with the help of Grey Worm. Her commander and Missandei had done their best to placate her, and riding Drogon earlier had given her the usual sense of peacefulness, something she truly needed in that moment.

Speaking with Grey Worm had convinced her she had made the right decision in accepting to wait, rather than leave immediately for King’s Landing. Even if he was loath to say so, Grey Worm had admitted both the few Dothraki left and the Unsullied could have used the rest. After all, they had been fighting ever since they landed in Westeros, first at Casterly Rock and later on the Goldroad, and reaching Winterfell had not been an an easy feat, due to the constant snow and the ill-kept roads.

No, as much as it pained her to admit it Lady Stark had provided her sound advice, which was more than she could say for her own councillors. Which led her to her current problem - Varys and Tyrion.

It was clear Varys still didn’t trust her completely. Perhaps he thought she was too similar to her father, or maybe he wished for a male ruler, rather than a girl. Whatever the reason might have been, she knew the eunuch’s loyalties were volatile, and that made him dangerous. The office of Master of Whisperers required absolute trust, and as much as she appreciated Varys’s loyalty to the realm, she couldn’t afford a potentially treacherous advisor. Things would need to change, and soon.

Tyrion was another matter altogether. She knew he was loyal to her cause, there was no doubt about that. But ever since their return to Westeros he had been only a pale version of himself, constantly outsmarted by his siblings and terribly cautious; she had already accused him of using a light hand against his own family, yet he had no reason to keep doing that, not now that his beloved brother had joined them in Winterfell.

Perhaps it would have been better to summon Yara Greyjoy and Daario. She needed allies - strong and loyal allies, for dragon or not, she was surrounded by wolves and lions who were just waiting to tear her apart.

A sudden movement below distracted Daenerys from her musings, and she looked at the gates. A few moments later the Lady of Winterfell rode out of the keep, escorted by her knight, Ser Brienne, and Jaime Lannister. The two southeners were discussing animately, while Sansa had a patient but amused smile on her face. Daenerys felt a pang of envy, wishing she did not have to feel so alone. Before meeting the Stark siblings, she had hoped to be able to forge a friendly relationship with Jon’s sisters, but they never gave her a chance to do so.

She heard some steps behind her, and two voices she knew very well, and immediately regretted her wish to not be alone. She sighed, readying herself for what surely was going to be a very unpleasant conversation with her advisors.

“Your Grace, I just finished speaking with Lady Sansa” announced Tyrion unceremoniously. “She informed me it will take at least a fortnight for the men to be ready to march, and recommended to wait one moon to ensure all the wounded have enough time to rest. She also produced parchments from five different Maesters to support her advice, in case you’re interested in the most boring reading ever created.”

Daenerys sighed, faintly relieved but unwilling to admit it. One moon wasn’t so bad, and perhaps she could have used that time to get to know the people from the North and from the Vale. No matter his perpetual expression of outrage, Lord Royce seemed a man willing to see reason, and gaining his support was crucial to ensure that House Arryn would stand behind her.

“Well, if Lady Stark asks for one moon then we shall give it to her” replied Daenerys, without holding back a hint of sarcasm from her voice. “After all, it seems she’s the voice of the reason right now, as well as the only person who is brave enough to stand up to me and inform me that I’m making a mistake.”

Tyrion and Varys exchanged a look, yet they didn’t utter a word. She knew the battlements of Winterfell were not the right place for a verbal lashing - anyone could have heard them, and it wasn’t wise to let it be known there was some dissent in her ranks - yet in that moment she didn’t really care. She was determined to put an end to the passive behaviour of her advisors, and to hell with the consequences.

 _Let’s start with you, my Master of Whisperers,_ she thought grimly.

“Lord Varys, you once told me that incompetence should not be awarded with blind loyalty” said Daenerys, turning to look at the eunuch. “I believe you were right. However, it should not be rewarded with blind trust either.”

“I also remember you swearing to me that, if you ever thought I was failing the people, you would look me in the eyes and tell me” she continued, with steel in her voice. “And yesterday you thought I was failing them.”

Varys stared at her with a troubled expression, without saying anything. “You’re not denying it.”

“No, my Queen. I cannot deny it.”

Daenerys exhaled a long breath, trying to reign over her lingering anger. “And tell me, my Lord. Why did you not honour your oath?”

The Master of Whisperers took some seconds before replying. “I simply didn’t wish to defy you in front of our allies, Your Grace” said Varys, with a calculated carefuleness in his voice. “The northeners and the knights of the Vale wouldn’t give you any respect if I chided you like a child. Sometimes even the best advisors have to let their ruler fight their own battle.”

_That’s his excuse? Some bullshit about protecting me?_

She was terribly annoyed by his response, yet she tried to not show it - not too much, at least.

“While I do appreciate your kindness, my Lord, what I need from my advisors is being willing to put in front of me the hard questions. If I wanted someone who considered my feelings more important than the effect of my decisions I would have employed a wet nurse.”

Tyrion snorted, unable to stifle a laugh, and Daenerys glared at him. “Am I amusing you, my Lord?”

“No, Your Grace” responded the Imp, his face sobering immediately. Daenerys made a sharp half smile, her gaze shifting again on Varys.

“As I was saying, I appreciate your intentions, my Lord. However the results could have been disastrous for all of us” she continued. “When I welcomed both of you in my service, I did it because of your brains, for the information you could bring me, and for the wise counsel you could provide.”

“Lord Tyrion, your decision to trust your sister allowed her to have months to prepare for us, while you, Lord Varys, failed to mention an important information which would have changed our approach. You both managed to make us look like fools in front of our allies. Pray tell, my Lords, do I have any reason to be satisfied with the two of you?”

Neither of them said anything, looking as if they really couldn’t disagree with her. Daenerys sighed, wishing she could continue listing all their failures and knowing at the same time it wouldn’t make a single difference.

It was rather unfortunate that good councillors were so difficult to hire. If Tyrion and Varys were regarded as the best she could find, she dreaded to think what the other options would entail.

“Well, I’m glad we all are on the same page” she continued, her voice softer than before. “I will need both of you to do better, my Lords. We are terribly close to our goal, yet our enemies are only waiting for a mistake from our part. We cannot afford any further oversight.”

“We will, Your Grace” said Tyrion stepping forward, glancing warily towards Varys. “We will all do our best. With your permission, I will speak to Grey Worm and we’ll find a way to employ our men while we wait for the wounded to recover. Showing to the northeners that not only your people were ready to die for Winterfell, but are also willing to help them rebuild will surely improve your stance.”

“And in the meanwhile, Your Grace, I will contact my little birds and find more information about the defences of King’s Landing. It will take some time, since the Lannisters were able to uncover my net” intervened Varys, probably feeling safe enough to speak again. “I will also send a raven to Dorne; perhaps our new friend could be persuaded to offer more to our cause than his pledge.”

“Then you may go, my Lord” replied calmly Daenerys. “The sooner we receive those information the better it will be.”

Varys bowed, and left without a word. Tyrion looked as if he was going to follow him, but she stopped him immediately. “Stay, my Lord.”

Daenerys remained quiet for a half minute, ensuring that the eunuch had moved far away from them.

“I accepted Varys in my council only after you vouched for him. I don’t have any particular reason to trust him. He served too many rulers, often with unpleasant results for them. You, on the other hand…” she sighed, trying to not show how much she had been disheartened by Tyrion’s failures. “I thought we were in this together. I value your counsel, my Lord, but I cannot perpetually ask for it. You know me, and you know sometimes you will need to force me to listen to you.”

Tyrion inclined his head, looking thoughtful. “Your Grace… it is truly because of your tendency to do things your own way that I have to pick my battles. You are a dragon, just as Lady Olenna said, and dragons don’t listen to lions nor wolves, even though sometimes they should.”

“Yet I listened to Lady Stark.”

"You did. I have to say, Your Grace, that I was quite surprised by how the argument turned our" said Tyrion with a brief chuckling, his expression showing a hidden tiredness she had not noticed before. “I fear my former wife has faced too many monsters to be afraid of anything.”

Daenerys made a half committal sound, not interested in discussing whatever had happened to the Stark girl. “Perhaps she did. Tell me, Tyrion, do you fear me?”

The dwarf didn’t reply immediately, and Daenerys noticed a spark of apprehension in his eyes. _I see. That is my answer._

“Every good ruler should be able to evoke both loyalty and fear, Your Grace” answered Tyrion after a half minute of silence. “And, as you proved with the Tarlys, you can be quite fearsome.”

“Fear is something I ought to save for my enemies, my Lord, not my allies” she sighed, not particularly pleased. So that was the reason why Tyrion was refraining from giving her counsel? Because he was afraid of her?

“How can I trust that I am making the right decisions, if my trusted Hand is not willing to help me?” said Daenerys, her voice soft yet stern. “If I wished to be advised by fools or cowards I would have not welcomed you in my service, and yet I did, since I believed you to be one of the brightest minds of the Seven Kingdoms. Was I wrong, my Lord? Perhaps I should ask Sansa Stark to be my Hand, since she at least has the guts to tell me whether I’m making a mistake.”

For a single moment, Tyrion looked as if he was ready to retort to her challenge with one of his scathing answers, yet he immediately deflated, lowering his head. “Your will is my command, Your Grace. If you believe that to be the best course of actions…”

 _I don’t, but only because you’re loyal to me and she isn’t,_ thought Daenerys sourly. She was loath to admit it, but so far naming him Hand had not brought the results she had hoped for. The deal he had made with the Masters had almost costed them Meereen, and his plan to seize Casterly Rock had actually costed them the loss of the Reach. He had also been the one to suggest to capture a wight in order to show it to Cersei, which had caused the death of Viserion; and then of course there was the entire debacle with Cersei.

No, she truly had no reason to be satisfied with him, and yet she had no real alternative. Missandei and Grey Worm were trusted friends, but none of them had the political skills needed to succeed in the office; Jon was definitely not an option, especially after she found out he was the heir of Rhaegar, and Yara Greyjoy was too hot blooded to be her voice of the reason. Had Jorah been alive, she might have considered him to replace Tyrion, but her loyal and brave knight was no more.

So he was still the best option she had… for the moment.

“Do not fail me again, my Lord” she warned, staring him down with a long hard look. “And do take a page from Lady Stark’s book; I am sure a true lion wouldn’t cower in fear while the wolves howl.”

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

_Two stones of wheat. Thirteen barrels of salted meat. Three… no, four crates of stale bread. Wonderful, I was looking forward to that. Twenty-five stones of potatoes, thirteen stones of onions…._

Sums had never been Sansa’s forte, but it was part of her administration duties, an obligation she would never forsake. Unfortunately, that knowledge did not make it less tedious.

She allowed herself a moment of pause, closing her eyes to rest them. Sansa had been working for most of the day on their provisions, and she had to admit the situation was quite bleak. Most of the granaries had been destroyed along with the food they contained, Winterfell’s glass gardens had been terribly damaged, the hunters had not been able to spot any game in the past days, and while Lord Manderly had promised to relieve them with supplies as soon as possible, it would still be days before the arrival of his wagons.

At least the Free Folk had started leaving, having decided to go back to their lands beyond the Wall. Many of them were still recovering from the battle, so Sansa and Tormund had agreed to allow his people to reside at Queenscrown for a while, at least until they could be sure that the area around the Fist of the First Men was safe. The Lady of Winterfell had offered to let them settle at Last Hearth, since House Umber was now extinct, but Tormund had declined, claiming those lands were just too southern for them. It had been a pity, since Sansa was still without a resolution for the former seats of Umbers, Karstarks and Boltons, but she had understood.

A sudden noise at the door drew her attention, and she heard Brienne agreeing to let someone in. A short moment later Jon made his entrance, looking incredibly displeased, and Sansa knew she had to prepare for the discussion that was coming.

“Ghost was supposed to leave with Tormund.”

The Lady of Winterfell barely raised an eyebrow. Was that what her brother meant to talk about, rather than her small rebellion at the war council?

“I spoke earlier with Tormund, and we both agreed Ghost should remain here, at least for a while longer” replied Sansa in a measured tone. “He is still hurt from the battle, and I fear he might not be able to defend himself in the wilderness. Once he’s healed…”

“Once he’s healed Tormund will be far away, and I’ll be in the South, and no one will be able to take him North” said Jon harshly, interrupting her. “He cannot come with me to King’s Landing. He has to go now.”

Sansa sighed, dropping the parchment she had been studying. “Well, Ghost can stay here in Winterfell until your return. Then, should you still be so set in freeing him beyond the Wall, you’ll be able to do it yourself, rather than part ways here. He deserves better than abandoned like some kind of crippled horse.”

“Aye, he deserves to run free where he belongs” replied Jon gloomily. “He fought beside me for the years, bled for me, and almost died for me. He has done his part now, it is time for him to enjoy his freedom.”

 _Seven Hells, he’s being as stubborn as Arya,_ she thought with a certain degree of frustration. What Jon didn’t seem to understand was how fickle was his hold over the North. As much as everyone was hailing him a hero after the battle of Winterfell, the respite would not be long. Soon the Lords would remember how he had knelt to Daenerys Targaryen, how he had thrown away the freedom they had gained with their blood, and she feared what would happen then.

“Jon, the Lords have just stopped complaining for the loss of our independence. It might seem foolish, but Ghost is part of your legend” explained Sansa, deciding to change approach. “When they look at you and they see Ghost, all they can think about is how you’re the son of Eddard Stark, the embodiment of our House. I realise you want what is best for him, but perhaps it would be better to wait some more time…”

“I do realise that. But I am not a Stark, Sansa. I’m…”

“… A complete idiot.”

To his credit, Jon didn’t look too offended. He was just stunned, possibly by her complete lack of manners, gaping at her with raised eyebrows.

“Listen, Jon. For the life of me, I cannot understand why you have suddenly decided to leave Ghost, and I sure hope it’s not because you’re bonding with that dragon” she said, barely restraining from scolding him. “Whatever your reason may be, I need you to think about the consequences. The direwolf is the sigil of our House, has flown on our banners ever since the Age of Heroes. If Ghost were to suddenly disappear it would be considered a bad omen. You have no idea how superstitious are the Lords…”

“That’s not what I mean, Sansa” said Jon, interrupting her in a low and bitter voice. “I know the direwolf is the sigil of your House and I understand the significance it bears. Yet, the truth is that I have no right to it, for I am not truly a Stark. I am not Eddard Stark’s son.”

He exhaled a long breath, looking suddenly stricken. “My true name is Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Bran… saw it all.”

Sansa was rendered speechless. Jon… a Targaryen? What kind of joke could that be? He was literally the spitting image of Ned Stark! He looked more Stark than her, or even Bran. She opened her mouth, ready to rebut at him and dispute what he had just said, but before she could do that she finally saw him.

Everything about Jon - his expression, his eyes, even his posture - screamed desperation, self-loathing and fear. He looked as if he was ready to run away, yet at the same time begging for her to make him stay; both steadying for her rejection and seeking her absolution. No, it could only be true, otherwise Jon wouldn’t have been so desperate about that.

“Oh, Jon.”

He lowered his eyes, seemingly nauseated by what he had just admitted. Sansa’s mind started racing, thinking about the endless possibilities that had just spread in front of her. Not only he was the son of Rhaegar, but the scion of two of the Great Houses, Targaryen and Stark. And being the male heir…

 _No,_ she decided. _There will be time to think about claims, crown and everything. Jon comes first._

She leaned forward, catching his hand and holding it gently. “I told you once already that you are a Stark to me. You’re still my brother, I still love you just as before, and nothing will change that.”

For a long time, Jon didn’t say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was full of emotion, as if he was forcing himself not to cry. “I am not your brother, Sansa. I wish I were, but…”

“Eddard Stark named you my brother, Jon” she interrupted him in a kind yet firm voice. “He gave you a name, a home, and raised you as his son. You are a Stark as much as I am, no matter what you believe. And if you have any qualms with that, you can go down in the crypts and bring your concerns to father, even though he will be unable to tell you that you’re being an utter idiot.”

Jon remained again in silence, his eyes staring at her face with something akin to desperation. Did he fear she would reject him, or maybe hate him?

She raised from her chair, moving fast towards him, and she forced him on his feet. A second later she wrapped her arms around her brother, embracing him. Jon immediately reciprocated, holding her with the same sort of desperate relief they both had felt when they had met at Castle Black.

Sansa felt the last remnants of her frustration towards him disappearing, and let out a sigh of comfort. She sensed Jon relaxing against her, and when they finally broke from their embrace she could see his eyes shining with tears, yet there was a content smile on his face.

“Thank you, Sansa. It really means everything to me. Finding out who I really am was… tough” he admitted in a low and hoarse voice. She was suddenly reminded of her father, and felt a rush of affection for Jon. “I haven’t told Arya yet, so, please, don’t say a word to anyone. For now, I need this to remain a secret between us.”

She let out a small shaking laugh. “Seven Hells, Arya will be so mad when she finds out I knew before her.”

“Aye, she will” chuckled Jon. “I shall do my best to protect you from her rage.”

He stared at her for a moment, as if there was more. She kept quiet, letting him mull on whatever he wanted to say, while her mind processed the news.

“I didn’t want to tell you yet, but there is something else you should know. Once all of this is over and Daenerys is on the throne, I will step down from my position as Warden of the North” he confessed, looking at her with a smile that was both sad and relieved at the same time. “The northmen might have named me their ruler when I was the bastard son of Ned Stark, but they will never do once they find out I’m a Targaryen. The North will be yours, Sansa.”

She was almost more stunned by that revelation than the previous one. Was he serious? Did he truly mean to give her the North?

“You… you honour me, Jon. But what about you…”

“I don’t want it. I was the King the North needed in a time of war, and I hope I didn’t fail everyone, even though my decisions were not always liked by everyone” explained him. “But soon peace will be upon us, and I know nothing of politics, or how to keep the people fed and warm. It’s the best solution for everyone.”

“I could help you learn all of that. And you know that our bannermen will hardly accept another ruler from the South. If you were to step down, even if I replaced you, some of them might start plotting against our family” replied her cautiously. “And I honestly doubt Daenerys would be willing to name me Wardness. Mayhap you haven’t noticed, but we don’t really get along.”

He shook his head, looking strangely at peace. “I’m sorry, Sansa. My decision is made. And you have nothing to worry about - I will handle the Lords when I make the announcement, and there will be no objections once I’m finished with them. And about Daenerys…”

He smiled again, looking at her with an affectionate glance. “You know, if you just stopped antagonising her so blatantly, she might start listening to you. She wasn’t listening to me either when I met her, and yet I was able to bring her here to fight with us.”

“No offence, but I doubt I can give Daenerys what you used to convince her. And I am not talking about the kingdom” was Sansa’s dry response.

Jon needed some seconds to catch on her innuendo, then literally blushed, looking terribly mortified. Sansa caught herself before she could laugh, trying to salvage some of his dignity, but could not stifle a snort of amusement.

Yet after some seconds Jon stared at her with a almost proud half smile, as if there was some kind of hidden joke only he was privy to. “Well, I told you I would do anything to save the North. And she did come to our aid in the end, didn’t she?”

Sansa was left speechless. She suddenly thought about her conversation with Daenerys from some days before, when the queen had denied she was manipulating Jon, and stared at her brother - cousin? - in a completely different way.

“Jon, you…”

“Hush” he interrupted her with a gesture of his hand. “Enough of this. I can’t remember the last time we spoke without being interrupted by some kind of tragedy, and I am not going to waste it discussing politics. Let us go for a walk, sister.”

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

It was only hours later that Sansa went back to her chambers, tired and half frozen, yet tremendously happy. She and Jon had met Arya while they were walking over the walls of Winterfell, and had ended up spending the afternoon all together, free from any concerns for a few hours. They had called for Bran too, but it seemed the youngest Stark was again lost in the past, and had not joined the rest of the family. It was the only thing that had brought a touch of bitterness in what had been the most joyful time together since forever for the three of them.

Jon had decided that Arya too needed to know the truth, and Sansa had left them, knowing fully well that her sister would need some time alone with him to process the news. And, to be completely honest, she didn’t want to be near a possibly upset Arya if she had any knives at hand, which she always had.

Now that she was alone, she could finally think about what Jon had told her. She had been so focused on consoling him that she had not even thought about all the repercussions of him being not only a Targaryen, but the heir of his line. He had explained Daenerys was informed of the truth, and wasn’t particularly happy about it; Sansa had to appeal to every ounce of her self-control to refrain from slapping him for telling the queen.

She knew what she was supposed to do. Jon was a Stark, no matter who his birth father was, and would always do his duty. If she could found a way to oust Daenerys and put him on the throne the future of the North would be assured, as well as the safety of all the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon was kind, just and honorable, and with Arya and her at his side to protect him from any foe he’d be able to rule for decades, restoring peace and prosperity in the realm.

_Jon of the House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm… it doesn’t sound bad at all._

At the same time… Jon had sacrificed everything for his duty. His lover, the red headed Wildling he spoke of with such longing, his friends, even his life. Would it be fair of her to ask more of him? Could she make him sacrifice his chance at happiness? Could she betray him after he had asked her to not utter a word of it to anyone?

She had told him he would have a legitimate claim to the throne once they succeeded in defeating Cersei, and Jon had looked so nauseated at the idea that she had feared he’d start puking. He reminded her he had bent the knee to Daenerys, swearing loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and had begged her to make her peace with his decision. He had also urged her again to be more careful with Daenerys, which had earned him a deserved snowball in the face.

Perhaps there was a partial truth in what Jon had said. She had been a bit too confrontational with the Dragon Queen, and she had to admit it was only by pure luck - and Lord Royce’s support, of course - that she had won their latest argument. Antagonising her openly might not be the best approach, especially not when Daenerys had already proved to be prone to fits of anger. The Tarlys were the not-so-living proof of that, or at least the few ashes that remained of them.

_People said every time a new Targaryen is born the Gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._

Targaryens had always been on the edge between madness and greatness. And while she couldn’t be completely sure, she feared Daenerys’ coin had landed on the wrong face, which made her dangerous and unpredictable.

No, she had to be smarter than that. She wanted the North to be independent and free from the Iron Throne, but she wasn’t willing to put Jon in danger for her dream. And enraging a potentially unstable queen who commanded an entire army and two dragons was definitely going to endanger him.

She was also wondering what Jon had meant earlier when they were speaking about Daenerys. She had always supposed he had been seduced by her, and had bent the knee convinced by her beauty, rather than considering the strategical advantage of an alliance. She still remembered what Cersei had said about what the best weapon of a woman was, and it was entirely possible that the Targaryen queen had understood it too. Still…

_Now I’m here, half a world away, fighting Jon’s war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?_

Daenerys herself had admitted that. She had paid no mind to her words, for she had not believed Jon would be capable of manipulating anyone, particularly not a Queen who had two of the brightest minds alive in her service. Yet it seemed she had been fooled.

Maybe she had overestimated her. While she was not a simpleton, Daenerys Targaryen was certainly no Margaery Tyrell. She had trusted Tyrion’s judgement over Cersei, even though he was still a Lannister at heart, and they ended up being played like fools. Everyone who truly knew Tyrion was aware his loyalty to his family had been his downfall before, and one could certainly not expect…

 _Family. That’s her weakness_. Sansa was almost startled by the realisation, and she jumped on her feet, unable to keep still, feeling a rush of excitement. Could it be that she had found the one thing she could use against Daenerys?

_Families are complicated._

_Ours certainly have been._

It wasn’t difficult to notice that the Queen was lonely. She had already made a couple of comments about her lack of faith in her advisors, and she had recently lost her trusted knight, Jorah Mormont. She was alone, ill-advised, with no family alive save for a nephew who was the embodiment of a Stark. And once she got her throne she would be even more lonely, for heavy lies the crown. Could that be the opening she needed?

Perhaps, if she got closer to her under the guise of bonding for Jon’s sake, she would be able to gain her trust and subtly manipulate her. She knew she was skilled at the game - she had been able to deceive Littlefinger, the man who had fooled them all, and had survived Joffrey and Cersei when she was nothing but an helpless stupid girl.

A plan started forming in her mind, and Sansa smiled a wolfish grin. She was going to play the game again… and this time she could not afford to lose.

 


	2. Chapter II - The Crypts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An impromptu meeting in the crypts gives Daenerys a chance to learn more about the Starks - and Sansa in particular.
> 
>  
> 
> All rights to Game of Thrones and A Song of Fire and Ice go to their respective owners.

The crypts had been cleaned up after the battle, and yet Daenerys was absolutely sure it was a place she would gladly avoid for the rest of her life. They were enlightened by some fleeting torches and candles that could do nothing against the cold wind blowing from below Winterfell, and the queen couldn’t stop thinking about the dead rising from their graves. She felt terribly out of place, yet she did not intend to leave.

She had been looking for Jon for the past two hours, having scoured half of the castle in her search. She was hoping to discuss what had happened the night of the party, for they hadn’t had a chance to speak alone ever since then, almost a week earlier. She had been angry - angry and tired and hurt over the death of Jorah, and watching everyone, from the Free Folks to the knights of the Vale, shower Jon with praises had not improved her mood.

That night she had said things that, in retrospect, could have been expressed better. She still believed the best course of action was to keep quiet about Jon’s parentage, at least until the Iron Throne was secured; at the same time, she knew she had not used the right approach with him.

_I should have been more careful, thought Daenerys. Men are prideful and easy to offend, and Westeros is not Essos. I need to be more prudent, no matter how annoyed I am._

Forcing him to choose between her and his loyalty to the Starks would only lead to her defeat, for she knew that, no matter their relationship, he would side with his family. And Jon was a a piece she could not afford to lose; the Warden of the North, a steady ally, her lover and, most than everything, her nephew.

As Tyrion had already made her notice, her succession was a matter she would soon need to think about. While she had refused to discuss it with him at the time, the discovery that she was not the last Targaryen had changed everything.

If Mirri Maz Duur’s prophecy was to be believed she would not be able to bear children; even though she could agree with Jon’s statement on the unreliableness of the witch, she had laid with both him and Daario enough times to be quite sure that she was not fertile. It was a harsh truth, one she had avoided for a long time, at least until Jon had told her of his parentage. For years she had feared the Targaryen bloodline would end with her, and now there was someone who could continue her lineage; while it was a true relief knowing she would not be the last dragon, it also created a complicated dilemma for her.

Jon was the male heir of the Targaryen dynasty, and due to that his right would always be stronger than hers. Sure, she had the right of conquest, just as Aegon I had, but would she be able to rule when there was someone alive who had a stronger claim than hers? Would her subjects accept her when there was a man who had grown in Westeros, who was half Stark, and was generally recognised as a hero? She didn’t think so. And while she had two full grown dragons to help her keep the Lords in line, she had already said she would not become the queen of ashes. She had to gain their loyalty, somehow, in a way that did not imply burning all of them.

However, she also _needed_ Jon to be legitimised as a Targaryen, otherwise her House would die with her. Rhaegal and Drogon would be left alone, without any rider or family to care for them, and she had no intention to condemn them to that life.

_It’s a snake biting its own tail,_ thought Daenerys dryly. _If I don’t legitimate Jon as my nephew I doom my House and my dragons. If I do, I might doom myself._

The only solution she had thought of was to conceal his lineage for the immediate future, at least until she could seize the Iron Throne, and then ensure each region was governed by a Lord Paramount who was loyal to her and trustworthy. She had already elevated Gendry, a simple blacksmith, to Lord of Storm’s End, and she would also confirm him as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The boy would surely remember how she had spared him, even though she had every reason to hate him for what his father had done, and hopefully he would become a loyal vassal.

Then there was Dorne, whose Prince had already renewed his pledge of loyalty; as far as she was able to understand from Tyrion’s lessons, she would simply need to leave them unbothered, and they wouldn’t give her any problem. The Reach had been taken, sure, but she knew the Lannister garrison left at Highgarden was not going to be a real threat; once she took the capital, she was sure she could install someone loyal to her as Lord Paramount. Perhaps she could elevate House Hightower, or maybe the Redwynes, unless some lost Tyrell was found. She was hoping for the latter option, for she felt a duty to ensure the survival of the most loyal vassals of the Targaryens. The Westerlands would be held by Tyrion, assuming he’d be able to keep his bannermen from taking up arms against him after he had killed his father. The Iron Islands would still be part of the Seven Kingdoms, even though she intended to work out some deal with Yara Greyjoy to increase their autonomy.

No, everything south of King’s Landing was of little to none concern. The real headache started once she begun thinking about the Riverlands, the Vale, and of course the North, for they were all bound to the Starks - and to Sansa Stark in particular.

She was Jon’s cousin, and the legitimate heir to the North after Brandon Stark had refused to bear any title. She was also Edmure Tully’s nephew, and as far as she knew no one had heard from the man in months. Perhaps he was dead and his heir with him, which would make her the strongest claimant to the seat of Riverrun; she had also ties with the Vale, since Lord Arryn was her cousin, and Daenerys had learned how Lord Royce had sided with the Starks during Petyr Baelish’s process. She had to admit that whoever had organised the web of marriages that had led to the Starks being so powerful had been a genius, even though they had put her in that unfortunate position.

Jon might have been the Warden of the North, but Sansa was the one wielding power for him. Varys had reported her many whisperers of how some of the northener Lords had unsuccessfully tried to crown her after Jon had left for Dragonstone, and Daenerys herself had seen how the lady of Winterfell was the real force behind every decision. Jorah had known that even before her, and had advised her to make peace with Sansa.

_Khaleesi, Jon Snow might have bent the knee to you, but the North will never be truly yours until you have the loyalty of Eddard Stark’s daughter. Speak with the girl, charm her, convince her you will be the best Queen the North could hope for, otherwise your rule will never know rest._

She had tried to follow his advice, but the conversation they had the night before the battle had not gone the way she had hoped. Still, she had learned an important lesson: the lady of Winterfell was not afraid of her, nor she had qualms in challenging her, even in front of other people.

That consideration had led her to the conclusion that she needed to sway Sansa Stark to her side, whatever it took. Not that she had any idea on how to do that: threats would not work, and neither would bribery nor seduction. Many things could be said about her, but not that she was disloyal to her family.

_I know what she wants,_ thought Daenerys with some frustration. _The North. The one thing I cannot give her._

No, she had no intention to give up the North, not after she had lost Viserion and a half of her army to defend Winterfell. After all, she had come to Westeros to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not six; and if she allowed the North to be free, what would keep the other regions to ask the same?

Still, she had to find a way to tie Sansa to her cause. She resumed to speak to Tyrion about that; he seemed to be in a good relationship with the Stark girl, and perhaps he would be able to come up with a good plan.

A sudden murmur in the distance distracted her from her musings, and Daenerys started walking towards the source of that low noise. The cold atmosphere in the crypts reminded her of the House of the Undying, and she shivered at the thought, feeling again as if she had no right to be in that place. She still continued walking, ignoring the nagging part of her which was begging to go back to the Great Hall.

She turned a corner and was finally met by the sight of Sansa Stark, standing in front of the statue of a woman, her head lowered in a praying posture. For a moment she thought about leaving her alone, but then the lady of Winterfell turned, crossing her gaze with her own blue eyes.

“Your Grace” she saluted in a cool voice, bowing slightly.

“My apologies for bothering you, Lady Stark” said Daenerys, with a touch of discomfort. It was clear she had interrupted a private moment, and she felt as if she had trespassed some kind of line. “I was looking for Jon, but I reckon he is not here.”

“It is fine, Your Grace” replied Sansa. “No, Jon is not here. He told me earlier today he was going to visit our glass gardens with Lord Davos; it seems there is some sort of issue with one of the hot springs, and he wants to fix it before it becomes a problem for our supplies.”

Daenerys’ mind flashed to the conversation she had had just some days before with Tyrion. They had yet to find any way to employ her army while they were waiting in Winterfell - maybe that was just what they needed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps my Unsullied could help with the repairs?”

The look Sansa gave her was clearly surprised, yet after a fleeting moment it was replaced by the same sort of cool politeness the lady of Winterfell had offered ever since her arrival. “It is a kind offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“You wouldn’t. Many of my men have already recovered from the battle, and I have no intention of taking advantage of your hospitality without giving anything in return” interrupted Daenerys, remembering how worried Sansa had been over the food supplies. “My Unsullied are not hunters nor farmers, but I’m sure they’ll be able to follow Jon’s directions.”

“Lord Davos’, most likely” replied Sansa with a sigh. “I doubt Jon has any idea on how the pipes can be fixed - and neither do I, to be honest.”

Daenerys forced herself not to smile. Thinking about the aloof lady of Winterfell trying to fix a pipe was somehow quite funny. “In this case I will ask my commander to speak with Lord Davos. Surely there is much they can do while we wait for the weeks you asked for to pass, so please let me know if we can assist you in the reparation of Winterfell.”

Sansa nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will speak with Davos and Maester Wolkan and I will let you know how we can employ your Unsullied.”

There was a long silence after that, and Daenerys weighted on the next step. It was either going to the glass gardens and look for Jon to set things right, or continue her conversation with Sansa. After all, they were alone, and the lady of Winterfell looked more at ease than she had ever seen her; perhaps it was an chance to speak and see whether there was anything she could use to sway Sansa to her side. _Well, let’s test the waters._

“You know, I was quite surprised by what you said at the war council” she started saying, cautiously. “I would have thought you’d be eager to see us leave. You were not particularly happy to have my army and dragons here.”

Sansa exhaled a soft sigh. “It was never a personal matter, Your Grace. My advice would simply born out of worry for the North and for my brother. Your Council is eager to please you, and they trust that your dragons will be more than enough to balance any disadvantage your troops might have. I don’t have the same certainties.”

“So you think you know better than them?

Sansa scoffed lightly, without any real bite. “What I know are two things: that only a fool would underestimate Cersei, and that Starks don’t fare well when they travel south. I will not allow Jon to end like the rest of our family” she added, nodding with her head at a statue close by.

The figure represented a severe-looking man, his trait sculpted hard in the stone; he was holding an iron sword, and a direwolf was laying curled at his feet. The battle had spared it from any damages, and Daenerys knew who he was even before Sansa could speak again.

“My father, Eddard Stark” she explained in a soft voice. “Murdered by the Lannisters.”

Daenerys stared at the statue, unable to keep herself from feeling some sort of anger against the man. He had been the usurperer’s loyal dog, a traitor to House Targaryen, and a key player in the downfall of her family; not to mention how he had hidden Rhaegar’s last living son pretending he was his bastard. However, according to what Barristan Selmy had said, Eddard Stark had also refused to sanction an assassination attempt against her, and had tried to incriminate Tywin Lannister for the murders of Elia Martell and her children, so he could not have been a terrible man.

_Well, it would be useless to discuss her father’s sins, especially when I am trying to convince her I am nothing like my own father,_ reflected Daenerys grimly, before opting for a more neutral comment.

“I heard Jon looks a lot like your father.”

Sansa nodded. “He does. Unfortunately this statue doesn’t do him any justice” she added, the pain evident in her eyes. “I tried to find a stonemason who had met father, but the Boltons were not kind to the North, nor to anyone loyal to House Stark.”

Sansa didn’t explain herself further - not that she needed to. She had been told of the Boltons’ tradition of skinning their enemies alive, and she could only imagine what had happened to the Stark loyalists once Roose Bolton had become Warden of the North. She also knew what they had done to Sansa, and admired her for being able to raise above it, just as she had done.

“Lord Barristan spoke of him with high praises” said at last Daenerys, keeping her voice levelled. “He said you couldn’t find a man more honorable, just and loyal than Eddard Stark in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye. And it was those three things that killed him” concluded Sansa in a grave voice. “Jon is so similar to him in that sometimes I fear for his life. That’s why…”

“That’s why you’re so unwilling to trust me?”

A pale smile opened on Sansa’s face, disappearing just as quickly. “To trust anyone, to be completely honest. My family has suffered betrayal both from southrons and northeners. My brothers are proof of that” she added, her gaze brushing two statues close by, representing a young boy and a man with a crown on his head, both of them accompanied by a stone direwolf. Daenerys moved closer, staring at the latter one.

“The boy is my brother Rickon, murdered by the bastard of Bolton. The other one is my brother Robb, the first King in the North ever since Torrhen Stark.”

That particular statue seemed less severe than the ones she had seen previously. King Robb’s face was just as stern as his predecessors, and yet there was a spark in his expression, as if the stonemason had managed to trap a bit of his exuberance. He was clearly young when he died; Daenerys felt a pang of sadness at the thought he would remain so forever.

“I’m sure you know how he was murdered at the Red Wedding. The Boltons and Freys might have been the instrument of his betrayal, but it was the Lannisters who orchestrated it after they couldn’t defeat him on the battlefield” continued Sansa, her voice thick with grief. “Mind you, my brother made many mistakes. He was trustful and followed his heart marrying a foreign woman he had fallen in love with, and ended up losing the North and his life. Treason was his undoing, but in truth it was love that killed him.”

Daenerys remained quiet, feeling there was some sort of cautionary tale in what Sansa had just said. Perhaps she feared Jon would suffer the same fate as her brother? The ways of the northeners were harsh, but she couldn’t see them betraying Jon Snow for loving her. Or perhaps the real lesson was that Lannisters do anything to win - even commit the most deplorable actions.

_They stabbed him while he was unharmed, killed his wife and unborn baby. Then they cut off his head, replacing it with his direwolf’s, and paraded him around like a trophy. Gods be good, he was no friend of mine, yet I almost wish I could have fed the Freys to Drogon for their crimes._

“What kind of king was he?” she asked after a few moments of silence, unwilling to think further about what had happened to Robb Stark.

Sansa sighed, looking terribly tired. “A honourable one, apparently. Brave, but also kind. When I spoke with the few left who survived to that wretched wedding, they told me of his feats during the War of the Five Kings. They told me how he rode in battle with his men, always with his direwolf by his side. How he was always fair with his prisoners. How they called him the Young Wolf, and crowned him when all he wanted to do was save Arya, father and me.”

“It seems being crowned against their will has been a somehow recurring experience for Starks in the past years” commented Daenerys. There was something uncanny about the way the Starks were able to inspire loyalty in people: she had personally seen how Theon Greyjoy had come to Winterfell, fully aware he would probably die, simply out of loyalty to Sansa.

“It seems so” she admitted. “Yet I always found difficult to reconcile everything they told me about King Robb with my brother, the one who was sneaking in the kitchen in the middle of the night to steal lemon cakes for me, or pretending to be Aemon the Dragonknight or Florian the Fool when we were children.”

“He must have been a great brother” said Daenerys softly, thinking about Viserys. It had been a long time since she last thought of him. She had never regretted his death, but she had grieved him nonetheless. Or perhaps she had mourned the man he could have been; an older brother who could have loved and protected her, rather than selling her like a broodmare for an army.

“He was. He was also my favourite brother, even though sisters shouldn’t have such preferences” admitted Sansa, with something similar to a sheepish half-smile. “Yet, Jon was always Arya’s favourite, and Robb was mine. He was confident, charismatic, always smiling. Literally a knight in shining armour, or at least I thought so when I was a naive child.”

“Still, I have to say I envy you, my Lady. I wish my brother Viserys had been more like Robb” said Daenerys in a wistful voice. “He was definitely not a shining knight. Especially not to me.”

“Yet you still named one of your dragons after him” noticed Sansa, with an intrigued glance. “Viserion, right?”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, the one who was killed by the Night King” she replied, her voice firm despite the lump in her throat. “Like you said, families are complicated. After all, Robb never came to King’s Landing to save you, and yet you love him nonetheless.”

The lady of Winterfell sighed, her blue eyes darkening. “I am sure you’re familiar with the sacrifices a ruler must make, Your Grace. I was able to fully understand Robb only when Jon and I were put in the same position; my heart broke for the choice we had to take, yet there was no alternative.”

_I wonder what you would be willing to sacrifice._

Daenerys stared at her surroundings, taking in the view of the crypts. All the Stark lords and kings that had preceded them rested in that place, yet she knew almost next to nothing about so many of them. She had not received a formal education, and while Tyrion had instructed her on the main events occurred in the Seven Kingdoms, he had still focused mostly on the recent ones.

“There is much I don’t know about your family, my Lady” she admitted in a soft voice. “Perhaps I should ask your Maester if he’s willing to teach me while we rest here.”

Sansa looked at her for a few seconds, her eyes giving away nothing of her own thoughts. “I fear Maester Wolkan is quite busy with the wounded, Your Grace. However, I’d be willing to assist you, unless you have more pressing matters.”

_That was unexpected._ Daenerys stared at her, surprised by the sudden olive branch she was offering, and nodded briefly. Whatever Sansa’s motives were, that was a chance to bond with the lady of Winterfell and start enacting her plan to sway her to her side, and perhaps learn more on the kingdom she was planning to rule.

“I’d be honoured to.”

Sansa bowed slightly again. “Then come with me, Your Grace. I will show you the crypts, and perhaps you shall start understanding the land you wish to rule.”

“Make way, Lady Stark.”

Sansa made a half smile, raising her hand to indicate the statue she had been praying in front of. “Lady Sansa will suffice, Your Grace. Lady Stark was my mother Catelyn, who was born a Tully. Do you know their words?”

“Family, duty, honour” recited Daenerys. Sansa nodded decisively, as if satisfied by her answer.

“Well said.”

 

_________________________________

 

They started walking around the crypts while Sansa told her of the many Starks that had preceded them. Artos the Implacable, who had defeated the Wildling King Raymun Redbeard avenging the death of his brother Willam; Jonnel One-Eye, who had married his niece Sansa, the union so frowned upon that the Old Gods had not blessed with any children; Alaric Stark, who had hosted her own ancestor Alysanne Targaryen and gifted lands to the Night’s Watch under the Queen’s request; Rodrik the Wandering Wolf, who had served with the Second Sons; and many others.

Daenerys kept following the lady of Winterfell, listening fascinated to both the stories of the Stark’s ancestors and the little anecdotes about Sansa’s closest members of the family. She heard of the time when Rickon had hidden behind Brandon the Burner’s statue and had falled asleep while all the family had been looking for him, and of Lord Stark teaching his children the old ways. She listened while Sansa’s voice broke when she told her of Lady, the direwolf she had lost at a young age, and smiled when she spoke of playing monster and maidens with her siblings in the darkest corners of the crypts.

By the time they had visited the thirteenth statue, the conversation had almost fully switched on Sansa’s family, rather than her ancestors.

“… And mother was so angry after she found out that Theon had dragged Robb to winter town that she forced them to spend one night in the godswood and the next day here in the crypts, even though Robb was swearing both by Old Gods and the New that he had not even looked at the brothel” concluded Sansa, shaking her head slightly. “Robb almost got frostbite. He complained for weeks.”

“Robb must have been quite cross with Theon” observed Daenerys, throwing a distracted look at the statue of some Brandon - were they all named like that? “Were they good friends then?”

“They were brothers” said Sansa, her eyes darkening. “We all were.”

Daenerys was silent from some seconds, internally debating on whether she should have pressed the matter.

“I know what you’re thinking, Your Grace. Theon was part of our family, and he still betrayed us” continued softly the lady of Winterfell, looking at her with understanding. “He made many mistakes, terrible mistakes, and paid for them dearly. I don’t intend to let his treason slip, yet I cannot forget how he saved my life.”

“I understand… perhaps more than you would imagine” replied Daenerys. “When Jorah Mormont first came into my service he did it as a spy of Robert Baratheon. Once he was discovered, I had to banish him from my court, even though it broke my heart. It took a long time for me to forgive him.”

“And in the end he died for you” concluded Sansa. “Just as Theon died to protect Bran.”

“Almost as if it was a full circle” mused Daenerys in a low voice, and the lady of Winterfell nodded.

“It truly was a full circle. You know, I still wish we could have made an exception for Theon and bury him down here” commented Sansa in a melancholic voice. “Only Starks are supposed to rest in the crypt, but he was still one of us, no matter his birth. He…”

Her voice broke down for a moment, and Daenerys saw her usually cold expression crumble, replaced by a raw grief.

“He deserved to rest here with Robb.”

 

_________________________________

 

Theon, Robb and Jon became the main topic after that, as Sansa recalled many memories of their shenanigans. The more she said, the less Daenerys could reconcile the broken man who had come to Meereen with the cocky warden of Eddard Stark. She wondered for a moment what his captors might have done to break him like that, and decided she truly did not want to know. Luckily, Sansa Stark was proving a nice distraction against those thoughts.

“… And Jon almost cried after he had to shave. Robb used to say he had never met a girl he liked more than his own hair.”

Daenerys chuckled, wondering how Jon had been years before. “Was it true?”

“Oh, definitely” scoffed Sansa, with some sort of annoyed sisterly affection. “Jon was too busy brooding to think about girls. And, to be fair, it was also hard for him to compete with Robb, since most of the maids in Winterfell were half in love with him; he was quite charming, and the Tully look didn’t hurt either.”

_Well, if he was half as beautiful as you, Lady Stark, I doubt there was any woman able to resist him._

She was surprised by her own thought, but she shook it away like some unwanted sand dust. After all, Sansa was beautiful, and there was nothing wrong in admitting it; she had stated that once already when she had come to Winterfell.

Still, it was probably better to not repeat that aloud.

“My apologies, Your Grace” said suddenly Sansa, stopping with an expression on her face akin to bashfulness. “I promised you a lesson on the North, yet I’ve mostly spoken about my family.”

“I honestly don’t mind, Lady Sansa” replied Daenerys with an easy smile. She truly didn’t mind - she was learning much about the Starks, and she had every intention to take advantage of that time with the lady of Winterfell. “Lord Tyrion took care of giving me an understanding of the history of Westeros while we were crossing the Narrow Sea, but I have to admit your tales are much more interesting.”

“You’re too kind, Your Grace. However, there is a story here you might find interesting” she said, gesturing at the statue. It was yet again another man with stern features and large built, his hair wild even in the stone. His direwolf had been sculpted baring its teeth, contrarily to most of the others.

“Lord Cregan Stark. He supported Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen in the Dance of Dragons, signed the Pact of Fire and Ice with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and served Aegon III as his Hand of the King for one day” explained Sansa, nodding towards the figure. “According to that agreement our houses were supposed to join, but it never came to happen.”

Daenerys looked at the statue, interested. She didn’t correct Sansa, but her mind went inevitably to Jon. A hundred and fifty years after the Pact of Ice and Fire their Houses had been joined with Rhaegar and Lyanna - and the Seven Kingdoms had bled for that. For a moment she wondered if her relationship with Jon was doomed to end the same way, for it seemed Targaryens and Starks were just a tragedy waiting to happen.

“How come he served as Hand only for one day?” asked Daenerys, almost fearing the answer. Was that another stain on the past of her House, another slight to the Starks she would need to pay for?

Against all her expectations, Sansa shook her head, with the ghost of a smile on her face. “It was necessary, Your Grace. I doubt the Seven Kingdoms would have survived more than one week with Cregan as Hand. Has Tyrion told you of the Hour of the Wolf?”

 

_________________________________

 

They spoke for long about the Dance of Dragons, and Daenerys managed to have Sansa admit Rhaenyra should have been Queen, no matter the fact her half-brother had a stronger claim based on him being male. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless - even though she had to admit that neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon were good rulers, for they let the kingdom fall apart because of their war.

“Are you not afraid of the crypts, Lady Stark?” she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity. “Tyrion swore he will never again put a foot in here after what happened during the battle.”

Sansa made a light scoff, but a spark in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Well, it is unlikely Lord Tyrion will be invited down here again” she commented, drawing a smile from Daenerys. “And no, I have no fear of the crypts. The dead will not raise again, and this will be the place I’ll be buried in, just as every Stark before me. It’s best if I get used to it, unless I wish my eternal rest to be quite uncomfortable.”

For a moment Daenerys could not understand whether she was serious or not. After a few seconds, a smirk opened on Sansa’s face, and the Queen almost scowled, finally understand she had been played.

“That was a bit morbid, my Lady.”

“My apologies, Your Grace” replied Sansa, managing to sound as if she wasn’t sorry at all. “I was only jesting. But I am truly unafraid of the crypts; my brothers and I grew up playing down here. Has Jon ever told you of the time he covered himself in flour and pretended to be a ghost to scare us?”

“I’m afraid he did not share that particular story with me.”

“And perhaps neither should I, lest my brother aims his ire at me.”

Daenerys almost rolled her eyes - she highly doubted Jon would ever get angry with her sister over anything. She was pretty sure Sansa and Arya Stark could have gotten away with murder without any kind of reaction from the Warden of the North - and they actually did, if the stories about Petyr Baelish were true.

She turned to Sansa to let her know that, yet a sudden feeling of uneasiness made her shiver. Looking for the source of that feeling, she noticed some stairs leading below, barely illuminated by a few torches at the entrance.

“Are you cold, Your Grace?”

Daenerys shook her head, and made a gesture towards the stairs. “What’s down there?”

“The deeper levels of the crypts” replied Sansa. “Where the the most ancient members of my House are buried. We won’t go down there; the stairs are dangerously slippery and partly collapsed, and I’d rather not break our necks.”

“That would be my preference too” admitted Daenerys with a certain reluctance. It was as if the darkness was calling her to go downstairs, luring her in with some sort of irresistible charm. She was suddenly reminded of the tales she heard from the sailors in Pentos about the mystical creatures called mermaids, and how their call could be deadly for the men who were not strong enough to resist them.

For a moment she thought about insisting to go downstairs; a sudden touch on her sleeve broke the pull, and she turned to see Sansa staring at her with something akin to worry in her blue eyes.

“Winterfell has many secrets, Your Grace. But there are things that we best leave alone” said the lady of Winterfell quietly.

Daenerys gave her a curt nod, and the two women moved again, putting some distance between them and the stairs. After a good minute of silence, she stopped walking, her mind travelling to an old memory.

“You know… Viserys once told me a story that Rhaegar himself had recounted him. He said the dragon of a Targaryen prince - I can’t really recall which one - had left a clutch of eggs in the depths of the crypts. I remember him boasting he would raze Winterfell to the ground and find those eggs. He thought himself Aegon the Conqueror reborn.”

“He was wrong on many levels, Your Grace” replied Sansa, not unkindly. “Your great-grandfather believed the same and sent men to scour the crypts, yet they found nothing. But I do remember one of our servants, Old Nan, once told the same story to my sister Arya; the dragon was Vermax, whose rider was Prince Jacaerys. Though I wouldn’t consider her a reliable source… she was absolutely convinced that the hot springs beneath Winterfell are heated by the breath of a dragon.”

_That’s too much even for me to believe,_ thought Daenerys with mild amusement. “And what did your sister do?

“She ran to explore the crypts, of course” said Sansa, her voice exasperated. “Father caught her before she could kill herself down those stairs… I don’t think I have ever seen him getting so mad with Arya” concluded the lady of Winterfell with a low laugh. Daenerys stared at her in complete fascination; it was the first time she heard her laugh, and the sound was almost mesmerising.

“So it’s not true, right?” asked the Queen after some seconds. “There are no dragon eggs down there?”

Sansa shook her head in a gesture of denial. “I fear the only eggs laid here are from spiders, Your Grace. Many Starks have explored the crypts, but no one has ever been able to find this legendary dragon eggs, and I believe they never existed.”

“Oh” sighed Daenerys, quite disappointed. “That’s a pity.”

 

_________________________________

 

_I wish I had something like this,_ thought Daenerys, somehow sadly. Yes, soon she would take back the Iron Throne, but no one would be able to…

“You will.”

She stared at Sansa, without understanding. “I meant you too will be able to have something like this too, once you take the Iron Throne. After all, King’s Landing has been ruled by the Targaryens for almost three hundred years; no matter what the Lannisters did in the past years, there is no way they can cancel centuries of history.”

“I didn’t realise I had spoken aloud” said Daenerys, with a smile that was almost sheepish. “But as much as I appreciate the sentiment, my Lady, there is much I will never know about my family. Viserys used to tell me about our past, but everything he said was a second hand tale filled with anger and vengeance. Now I fear that what you have here… the little anecdotes, the memories, all of this was lost to me.”

“You’ll be able to create new memories, Your Grace. It will take time and much effort, but not all is lost. After all, we thought dragons were extinct, and you have already managed to change that.”

 

_________________________________

 

They stopped in front of another statue, this time representing a short man with a bland expression. Initially Sansa did not say anything, her eyes focused on the figure in front of her, and Daenerys leaned forward in anticipation.

“I have no idea who this is” she admitted at last. The Queen had to restrain herself from laughing, and managed to emit only a soft snort.

“Probably a Brandon, Lady Sansa” she suggested jesting. Sansa stared at her, and for a moment she feared the lady of Winterfell had taken offence.

“This is the first time I actually notice how unimaginative we are with family names.”

“To be fair, half of my ancestors are named Aegon…”

 

______________________________

 

“I’m surprised by your knowledge of Targaryen history” observed Daenerys after some anecdote about Aegon the Unworthy and his less than stellar first meeting with Cregan Stark. “I know Robert hated my family. I would have presumed that teaching our history was something forbidden.”

“Perhaps you didn’t know that, but Robert Baratheon had Targaryen blood” replied Sansa, shaking her head. “His grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, and that made him your second-cousin. That’s the reason why he was chosen to be king; he had a better claim to the Iron Throne than my father or Jon Arryn.”

_Oh. I didn’t know that._

“Was he a good king?” she asked after a few seconds. “I remember Illyrio Mopatis, the magister who was our benefactor in Pentos, was often saying to Viserys that people in Westeros were secretly toasting to his health and wishing for their true king to return. None… none of that was true, right?”

For a moment, piety sparked in Sansa’s eyes, disappearing just as quickly. Daenerys lowered her gaze, feeling as if a stone had fallen on her stomach.

“No, Your Grace. It was not true” replied Sansa, her voice calm but not unkind. “And Robert was… well…”

She stalled, looking as if she couldn’t truly answer. Daenerys sighed, feeling the beginning of an headache forming. “You can be honest, Lady Sansa.”

“My apologies, Your Grace. I was simply surprised by your question” explained the other girl. “Robert was not the best king Westeros has had, nor he was the worst. He had the good sense of choosing a Hand capable of running the kingdom in his stead, but never cared to learn how to rule and ended up surrounded by lions pretending to be sheep. He was merciful, yet the same enemies he spared did not esitate to throw Westeros into chaos. And many paid a terribly price for his weaknesses” concluded Sansa in a bitter tone.

“Your father” commented quietly Daenerys.

“Aye” sighed her. “Come now, Your Grace. There is one last story I would like to share with you before we go back.”

 

_________________________________

 

“Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt.”

Daenerys stared in pure fascination at the statue. It had not survived the battle without damage: its nose had been cut off, the sword he was holding had been destroyed along with a good portion of his arms, and only the paws of the wolf curled at his feet were left. Yet, looking at its full beard and grave expression, Daenerys couldn’t keep from imagining the day when he had knelt in front of a silver-haired man and gave up his crown.

“I gather he doesn’t need any introduction” said Sansa quietly.

_No, he doesn’t,_ she almost replied. Perhaps Sansa could only see what the North had lost when Torrhen had knelt, but all Daenerys could think about was the beginning of the golden age of the Targaryens.

“Jon often told me the northeners would compare him to Torrhen, for they both bent the knee to a Targaryen ruler. He was afraid he would be despised by his countryman” commented the Queen. “Tell me, Lady Sansa, do you think Torrhen made the right call that day?”

It wasn’t a particular subtle approach, and she was aware of that. Yet she was hoping to show her that Torrhen had made a suffered yet correct decision when he bent the knee, and that the Starks had flourished under the Targaryen’s rule; she was sure they could flourish under her rule too, if only Sansa gave her a chance.

“He spared his men from becoming ashes. Only fools would say he made a mistake” replied Sansa, calmly. “Aegon had three full grown dragons, at least fifteen thousand men more than the northeners and had already destroyed the Gardeners and Hoares in battle. He would have slaughtered every northener who opposed him, and House Stark would have been crushed. Do you truly believe he had a choice that day, Your Grace?”

Daenerys thought of the Good Masters of Astapor and Yunkai, who had sent their men to die against her dragons, uncaring of their fate. _There is always a choice. But only a good ruler would spare his people from death and lose his pride for that._

“He did. He could have sent his men to die, just as King Mern did, and burn alongside them. He could have doomed his House to oblivion. But he was clever and humble, and recognised he was fighting a battle he could not win. There is always a choice; sometimes it’s between pride and wisdom, between doing the right thing for our people and being oblivious to their sufferings.”

“I think we can agree on the fact Torrhen made the right call when he swore fealty to Aegon. Yet, he also almost lost the North for that choice” explained Sansa. “His own sons wanted to rebel against him, and many northeners left Westeros, choosing exile over a life under the rule of a king who was not a Stark. Torrhen barely managed to hold the North together, and that was three hundred years ago. Things are quite different today.”

“Isn’t the duty of a ruler to know better than their own people?” asked Daenerys. “Shouldn’t we be willing to do what it takes to protect our people, even when we are taking unpopular decision?”

“Aye, Your Grace” replied Sansa, her tone clearly reluctant to admit that.

Daenerys exhaled a long breath. “Since we both agree on this point… I believe we can also agree on the fact Jon did what was necessary to protect the North. He gave up his crown in exchange for an army and two dragons” she said slowly. “And, however you feel about me, you must admit I have kept my word, no matter the loss I had to suffer for it. Half of my army is gone as well as one of my children, and the North was saved for the threat of the Night King.”

“And for that we are all grateful, Your Grace, but my dubiousness is not related to you becoming the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms” explained Sansa, her blue eyes softening. “Jon trustes you, and I trust his judgement. What I fear is whatever will come after you.”

“You mean my successor?” replied Daenerys, feeling some kind of tension rising.

“In a way, yes. Perhaps you will be a kind and wise ruler, Your Grace, and the North will prosper under you. But what happens after you? What if your son, or the son of your son, is not as kind as you are? What if your dragons are used to bring fire and blood to my people? We have bled for too long and sacrificed too much to kneel again to a foreign ruler. The northeners will not give up their freedom, not after they chose Jon as their King.”

Daenerys forced herself from dismissing that kind of talk, knowing fully well that she wouldn’t be able to silence her as she did with Tyrion. That was a battle she would need to win with her own wits, and she had a feeling her opponent was much more prepared than her.

“A king that has decided to bend the knee, no matter was his own people wished. And honestly, my Lady, the same could be said about your successors” she observed quietly. “What if Jon’s heirs are not as honorable as he is? What one day a Stark who doesn’t care about the North becomes King? What then?”

“Then, Your Grace, that Stark will be deposed. They won’t have dragons to protect them, nor will they be able to summon armies from all of Westeros to defend them. And, to be fair, no Stark has been known for mistreating their own people. Our ways might be harsh, and our enemies know us for being ruthless, but we always protect our people.”

“That is quite convenient for you, Lady Sansa” rebutted Daenerys. “Isn’t House Stark also renewed for being trustworthy and for never failing to keep your promises?”

For a moment she thought about taking a jab at Robb’s oathbreaking, but she stopped herself just in time. She was not going to stoop so low, no matter how frustrated she was with the lady of Winterfell.

“We are” agreed softly Sansa. “And nothing good came whenever we didn’t do that.”

Daenerys didn’t say anything, leaving some time to the lady of Winterfell to mull over their conversation. When Sansa spoke again, her eyes were full of resolve.

“Come now, Your Grace. I know I said Torrhen was the last story I was going to tell you, but there is another one I feel you ought to know - and hopefully you will understand my hesitancy.”

 

_________________________________

 

They walked their way back to the entrance in complete silence, the mood quite different from minutes earlier. Their footsteps rang off against the stone, bouncing from the vaulting ceiling, and Daenerys immediately started missing the camaraderie they had established before. Luckily for her, they soon reached their destination before the silence could become too awkward.

“Like I said earlier, Starks don’t fare well in the South” said Sansa, stopping in front of a statue located next to Lyanna Stark’s. It was terribly damaged, with a whole arm missing and part of the face splintered. “My grandfather, Rickard Stark. I assume you know what happened to him.”

Daenerys could only nod, her throat suddenly dry. Yes, she knew of Rickard’s fate. And, as much as she did not want to say anything, she knew she needed to acknowledge her father’s crimes.

“Yes, I’m familiar with his story” she said in a low voice. “After my brother Rhaegar had kidnapped your aunt Lyanna, your uncle Brandon went to look for her in King’s Landing. My father imprisoned him, and Lord Rickard too, after summoning him to court. Your grandfather asked for a trial by combat and was burned alive while Brandon strangled himself trying to save him.”

Sansa nodded, her expression grim. “A tale I have no need to recount, then. The northeners are distrustful by nature, and the history between Stark and Targaryen is… controversial, to say the least.”

“Lady Sansa, I need you to understand that I am not my father” she replied in a quiet voice, turning around to face Sansa. “I have no intention of burning everything between me and the Iron Throne. I am here to free…”

“And yet you burned the Tarlys.”

There was no judgement in Sansa’s voice, only a cold statement, but Daenerys was still able to perceive the hidden disapproval. Well, I knew I would have to face that sooner or later.

“It had to be done” she said after a few seconds of silence. “I took no pleasure in it, and I offered both of them the chance to bend the knee. The Tarlys were traitors, responsible for the sacking of Highgarden and for the death of Olenna Tyrell. Didn’t your own brother take the head of one of his bannermen for betraying him?”

“He did. And like I said earlier, that was part of the reasons why he lost the North” replied grimly Sansa. “But it’s not the point. My brother executed Lord Karstark, that is true, but he gave him a clean death even though he was a traitor; Randall Tarly was burned alive, along with his heir, for refusing to bend the knee to you.”

Daenerys felt a shiver, recognising what Sansa had just implied. That… was not something she had considered. Yes, she could see the points in common between her execution of the Tarlys and what her father had done, but the similarities literally ended there. She had no intention to burn anyone else - well, Cersei Lannister being the exception to that rule - but her dragons were an asset she had to use.

“I am not a warrior, Lady Sansa. I will not be able to make my enemies shake in fear of my sword or my hammer. My dragons shall be my weapon.”

For a moment, Sansa’s eyes sparked with rage. It was over so soon that Daenerys almost thought she had imagined it, but her voice was unmistakably harsh when she spoke next. “You know, according to Jaime Lannister your father used to say that fire was the champion of House Targaryen. Be careful of what you say, for your dragons are a painful reminder of the darkest time of your family’s rule.”

Daenerys sighed, sensing a feeling of anger and frustration raising. “Lady Sansa, I thought we had already gone through that. _I am not my father._ I know my House has wronged your family, and I swear I will do my best to gain your forgiveness for the sins committed by my ancestors even if it takes my whole life.”

She needed to find some kind of common ground, otherwise whatever small progress they had done that day would be destroyed.

“This is _not_ about the crimes of your predecessors, Your Grace. This is about you and the choice you made that day.”

“I’ll have to be ruthless, and I’ll need to inspire a degree of fear if I want to keep the throne” she said, remembering Tyrion’s words. “How am I going to be able to do that, if my enemies believe that treason will be unpunished under my reign?”

“Fear, Your Grace?” replied Sansa, chuckling darkly. “Pray tell, who taught you that?”

“Well, my… my advisors. And my experience as Queen of Meereen.”

Sansa exhaled a long breath, shaking her head slightly. For a moment Daenerys felt as if she was being chastised like some kind of unruly child. “You know… a long time ago, Cersei told me that the only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. Yet my father taught me that love is a surer route to the people’s loyalty.”

“And yet both of us have been betrayed, no matter what route we chose to ensure our people’s loyalty” completed Daenerys.

“That is true” conceded the lady of Winterfell. “However, Your Grace, my point is not related to how you decided to deal with treason. What I am talking about is the way you executed the Tarlys - with fire. As I said earlier, a Targaryen using dragons evokes terrible memories in the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was different in Essos, for they never experienced a time when people were burned with wildfire by their own king” continued Sansa, her blue eyes fixed on her with a sort of quiet pain. “But fire has a different meaning in Westeros. And not only because of your family; Stannis Baratheon too lost the loyalty of his men because of the burnings.”

_She has a point,_ admitted begrudgingly Daenerys. She had always used fire against her enemies, whether she was fightning them on the field or not, but Westeros was not Essos. _It seems my ignorance about the ways of the kingdom I wish to rule could be my downfall._

“What would you advise then, Lady Sansa? That I stop using my dragons against my enemies?”

“I would advise you to _think_ , Your Grace” was her dry response. “It is not always necessary to use the power you have at your disposal. Sometimes you just need to ensure your foes know what you could do with that power. You must learn to use it as a deterrent, but keep yourself from employing it actively, for nothing will rally people against you like the belief you are your father’s daughter.”

“I can learn that” she swore, her voice firm. “Now, my Lady… what about the North?” she asked, echoing the same question Sansa had made her before. The lady of Winterfell gave her a hard look.

“You know the Stark’s words, do you? _Winter is coming._ But we have also another saying… _The North remembers._ We will not forget of the time when a Stark and his heir were murdered by a Targaryen king.”

Daenerys lowered her head, disappointed. Again the sins of her father were condemning her. For how long would she need to pay for them?

“However…” continued Sansa, her voice suddenly softer. “Neither we will forget the Targaryen queen who gave up her conquest to save the kingdom, and how she sacrificed what she held dear to protect the North.”

It wasn’t the result she had been hoping for, but it was better than nothing. She kept staring at her, hoping to hear something more, to finally receive the acknowledgement she had been looking for. Sansa’s eyes were strangely understanding, and Daenerys felt suddenly less alone.

“I know you long for more, Your Grace, but right now this is what I can give you. I highly doubt we will reach an agreement today; perhaps, once we get to know each other better, we will be able to speak as our own people, rather than the last Targaryen and a Stark daughter. For now I can promise you I will ensure that the northeners keep following Jon.”

Daenerys sighed softly, then nodded. “And for that I am grateful to you, my Lady. I am just asking for you to be open to more possibilities, rather than a single goal, and I look forward to the day we’ll be able to speak as our own people. I have no wish to be at odds with you.”

“Why do you care so much about that?” asked Sansa, with an edge of curiosity in her voice. “After all, I am only the lady of Winterfell. No matter the opinion I might have, I will still follow Jon’s orders. You have no reason to care.”

_She’s either being too humble or she’s testing me._ The latter, probably, decided Daenerys.

“You’re much more important than a simple lady, and you know that. There is no need to discount yourself on my behalf” she replied, unable to hold a bit of sarcasm from her response. “You’re Jon’s heir, a potential claimant to the Riverlands, and above all a powerful woman, smart enough to be a dangerous enemy if you wished me any ill. Don’t you think I have every reason to ensure you are on my side?”

Sansa gave her a bitter smile, shaking imperceptibly her head. “Your Grace, if I truly wished you any ill I wouldn’t have told you to delay your march to King’s Landing. I would have simply let you go to face Cersei without being prepared, and found some way to delay the northeners and spare them from the battle. I know we don’t see eye to eye on many things, but if I were the person you think I am, why would I do something that is clearly in your best interest?”

_Which leads me again to wonder why you were the one who thought about my interests,_ thought Daenerys unhappily. Well, it was time to see what Sansa Stark thought about that.

“May I ask you something?” said Daenerys, receiving a nod of consent from the redheaded girl. “It seems everyone was aware I was making a mistake when I chose to go to King’s Landing without waiting. Yet no one spoke… no one but you. Why?”

Sansa gave her a cautious look. “I wouldn’t know. Perhaps it is something you should ask them, rather than me.”

“Just indulge me, my Lady. Why did you have to be the one who told me I was wrong?”

For a long time, Sansa didn’t say anything, looking lost in her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and serious. “I received many lessons in my life, yet I learned one of the most important ones only a few months ago. Sometimes, when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst.”

“And what is the worst I need to assume with Varys and Tyrion?” asked Daenerys, a touch of wariness penetrating her voice.

“That is for you to know, Your Grace” replied calmly Sansa. “You have welcomed them in your service, after all.”

Daenerys made a non committal sound. It was again a wise advice, if a bit paranoid, but she was sure it had not been given for free. “And what are your motives, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa exhaled a long breath, suddenly looking very tired. “I never hid them from you, Your Grace. Everything I do is to protect the North and my family.”

Before Daenerys could think about the implication of that statement, a sudden noise drew their attention, and after a moment Ghost appeared from behind a corner. He went straight to Sansa, gently pushing his nose against her right hand, and she immediately rewarded the direwolf scratching him behind his good ear.

“Hello, Ghost” she mumbled, her voice affectionate. “Were you looking for us?”

Ghost yapped lowly, and not for the first time Daenerys was amazed by the way the direwolf seemed able to understand humans. Her dragons were incredibly smart, yet were not always able to distinguish between friend and foe, nor right or wrong, all things Jon’s wolf seemed capable to do.

Sansa gave him a smile, then turned to face her. “We should go back, Your Grace. Supper will be served soon, and I am sure we’re being sorely missed.”

For a moment Daenerys almost protested, unwilling to drop the conversation. But then she nodded, trying to not show how disappointed she was over the interruption, and started following Sansa towards the entrance. _There will be more occasions to talk since we’ll be stuck here for a while more_ , she reflected. Perhaps she would still be able to gain her trust, if she played her cards right. _She wants to be listened to. She wants to matter. Maybe… maybe that’s something I can help her with._

“Thank you for showing me the crypts, Lady Sansa. It was truly enlightening.”

“It was a pleasure, Your Grace. I hope you didn’t find my tales too boring.”

_Definitely not_ , thought Daenerys throwing a last look at Rickard Stark’s statue. _I will not forget what I learned today._

Soon they started climbing the stairs, and Daenerys was struck by the sudden feeling she could understand the lady of Winterfell a bit better.

She could only hope Sansa felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> First of all, I would like to thank everyone for the incredible response received from the first chapter. I'm extremely grateful for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions etc, so THANK YOU. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.
> 
> Also, thank you for waiting for this second chapter, which kind of got out of hand. The meeting in the crypts was supposed to be waaaaay shorter. I had to remove Sansa's POV, which was supposed to be in this chapter and will instead be in the next. I have worked out a schedule of sort and I believe I'll be able to update every 7/10 days; I noticed most of my chapters are around 7-8k, so it takes a while to write them :)
> 
> Again, please point out any mistake to me :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter III Preview
> 
>  
> 
> _“Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime” she greeted both of them. “I thought you’d be training the new guards for the whole afternoon. To what do I owe the pleasure?”_
> 
> _Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Jaime beat her to it. “Your lunatic of a sister is leaving Winterfell.”_


	3. Chapter III - The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victory and defeat are two sides of the same coin, just as madness and greatness. Both Jon and Daenerys have to deal with their past, while Sansa fights to keep her family together.  
>    
> All rights to Game of Thrones and A Song of Fire and Ice go to their respective owners.
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains discussion of past abuse and rape (not graphical).

Sansa finished penning her letter, and sighed loudly. Now that the worst had passed, it was time to restore order in the North - and that meant dealing with Robett Glover. The Lord of Deepwood Motte had broken his oath for the second time when he refused their call to fight the Night King, and Jon had swore there wouldn’t be a third one. Sansa had already sent him a letter some days before with a summon to Winterfell, and now she needed to rally his vassals for the trial and ensure they would respect the sentence of the Warden of the North.

_Lord Forrester will come as soon as he receives my raven, and I am pretty sure he will support whatever decision Jon makes,_ she thought. _Lord Bole is too young to be able to influence this matter, and if I remember correctly Lord Woods has lost at least one son in the battle of Winterfell. He’ll probably be quite cross with his liege Lord, since he has not participated to the fight. Lady Branch will fall in line with everyone else, so the trial should be over quite soon._

It was going to be an unpleasant matter, one that Sansa was hoping to put to rest before Jon left for Riverrun. Lord Glover would surely receive a harsh sentence - it was either death or exile, for it was the second time he went back to his oath - and his son Gawen would inherit his titles; yet she was concerned about what would happen after that. Perhaps Gawen would be a loyal bannerman, but she didn’t trust him to understand the reason why his father would need to be punished. And she surely didn’t want to deal with a new Harald Karstark.

She had shortly considered taking away the Lordship of the Wolfswood from House Glover, yet none of the other Houses was strong enough to replace them. She was also unsure whether the move would be approved by the other bannermen; Sybelle, Gawen’s mother, was born a Locke, and her House was a vassal of Wyman Manderly, a man she could not afford to displease.

_Politics, politics,_ she thought with a hint of frustration. She had to be careful to avoid any offence to the northern Lords, and she did not intend to take any risk with Wyman, especially not now that half of the country was depending from his supplies. No, Gawen Glover would receive his father’s titles, Lordship included, but perhaps his own son would be fostered in Winterfell to ensure his obedience.

_Look at me, already taking decisions about the North as if I were already the Wardness,_ thought Sansa with some amusement. She was pleased with Jon for his offer, yet it didn’t change her view. The North had to be free and independent, no matter who was its ruler.

Of course, the road to independence was not going to be an easy one. No matter the way she had made clear with Daenerys that the North wished to be free from the Iron Throne, she knew the Queen would not give up one of her kingdoms. It was something she could understand: after all, if a northern House had come to request their independence she wouldn’t allow that either.

Her mind flashed back to the conversation she had with Daenerys in the crypts the day before. She had been quite satisfied with the outcome, even though she knew it was only the first step out of many.

She suffocated the nagging sense of guilt born from the knowledge of the consequences that her game could bring on Tyrion and Varys. She could not afford to be sentimental, not when the fate of the North was hanging in the balance.

Still, she felt sorry for her former husband. At first she had been surprised to learn his queen didn’t trust him, but she had been even more astonished once she found out he had believed Cersei. The brightest man alive fooled by his sister… that was something she had never thought she would see. Yet, Tyrion seemed consumed by some kind of demon, and his behaviour at the battle of Winterfell confirmed that. It was as if he felt a need to prove himself and his worth; something Sansa could not understand, since she imagined Daenerys had not named him Hand before testing his abilities.

However, no matter how she felt grateful to him for the way he behaved during their marriage, Tyrion was not one of the people she was sworn to protect. She was loath to make him a collateral damage in her plan, but she would if she needed to. And honestly, Tyrion always landed on his feet. He’d be able to twist that around, one way or another.

Varys was another matter altogether. Not only she didn’t trust the Spider even by one bit, but she also regarded him as the biggest threat for her plan. He was a cunning man, with a spy network that could rival the one Littlefinger had, and Sansa had no idea of his true goals. If he had been working for a Targaryen restoration for all those years it meant he had a role in everything that had paved the road to Daenerys’ return, from the death to Jon Arryn to the so-called ‘Purple Wedding’… and that included the events that had led to the murderers of Robb and father. Perhaps he had refrained from participating to any of them, yet she found difficult to believe that he had not known anything.

At best, Varys was someone who only the Targaryen queen could trust; at worst, he was an enemy that would actively work against her.

Luckily, Daenerys seemed to not fully trust him, which had made a tad easier for her to start driving a wedge between them. After planting the seed, now she needed to keep working to gain the trust of the queen; she had only four weeks before Daenerys left for Winterfell, and she had to be cautious, lest the queen noticed that she was planning something. Sansa understood very well that trust took time to be built, and time was not on her side, unless she left Winterfell to join the queen’s retinue. She had no wish to follow the army south, yet it was a possibility she had to consider.

A sudden knock to the door distracted Sansa from her musings, and she raised her head towards the entrance. “Come in.”

Just a moment later, Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister entered the room, both of them fully armoured and stained with mud. Sansa looked at them with some interest in her eyes, wondering why they were there.

“My Lady” said Brienne, bowing respectfully, while Jaime rolled his eyes, smirking in a somehow affectionate way. Those two had a very interesting dynamic - one Sansa had thought to investigate on, without ever finding any real time or will to. She trusted Brienne with her own life, but she couldn’t say the same for Jaime Lannister.

No matter the fact he had fought with them in the battle against the Night King, Sansa was still harbouring some kind of resentment against the Kingslayer; she could not help but hate him for the way he had attacked her father and killed Jory Cassel. She knew many in Winterfell shared the same feelings, but she did not intend to let any harm befall him. Her sworn shield had earned the right to be happy, no matter Sansa’s reservation about the man she had chosen.

“Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime” she greeted them. “I thought you’d be training the new guards for the whole afternoon. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Jaime beat her to it. “Your lunatic of a sister is leaving Winterfell.”

“Jaime!”

“Ser Jaime, you are literally the last person alive who ought to judge other people’s sisters” commented Sansa calmly. Brienne snorted, stifling a laugh, and even the Kingslayer grinned with an amused expression. For a moment Sansa was reminded of the golden lion who had rode to Winterfell with King Robert, and she shook away the thought before it could become a serious concern. “Where is she going?”

“King’s Landing, my Lady” said Brienne swiftly, before Jaime could reply. “One of the stableboys just informed me. I told him to delay her departure while I informed you.”

Sansa sighed, looking with some of regret at the parchment she was holding. _Seven Hells, I don’t have time for this._

“I’ll handle her. Ser Brienne, please let Jon know about this. Hopefully there won’t be any need to send a search party after my sister…”

 

_______________________________________

 

Sansa found Arya in the stables, just as Brienne had said. Her little sister was saddling a black mare, and a couple of sacks were laying close to her. She was wearing a fur cloak, and her sword was sheathed in its scabbard, hanging by her side. It was clear she was on verge of leaving, and Sansa was forced to suffocate a surge of anger. They had fought so hard to reunite, and now her sister wanted to leave again without a word?

“Were you going to say goodbye?”

Arya didn’t turn, too busy clamping the belts of the saddle. “I don’t like goodbyes. And I knew you would make it more difficult than it has to be, so…”

“So you thought it would be better to leave Winterfell in secret, like some kind of common thief?” asked Sansa, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Gods be good, Arya. What do you think you’re doing?”

“The right thing” she replied, turning towards her. “You managed to gain us some time, but soon the northeners will have to march south and die for a war that does not belong to them. I can stop that. My list has still some names I need to cross, and one of them happens to be Cersei’s. If I kill her, the war will be over, just like that.”

“Arya, I honestly don’t give a horse crap about your list” said Sansa exasperatedly, crossing her arms on her chest. “You, on the other hand, I care about. If you go there alone perhaps you’ll be able to kill Cersei, but you will never make it out of King’s Landing alive. I refuse to let you waste your life; you won’t leave for unless you have at least an army behind you, and Jon, since he’s the only person you seem to listen to.”

Her sister threw her a somehow amused look. “If Jon is the only one I listen to, why are you even wasting your time telling me this?”

“Sheer hope that despite the way you’re being unreasonable, you will at least listen to what I’m asking you” replied Sansa, teeth clenched. “And you know that Jon would tell you the same thing. That’s why you were trying to leave in secret, right? You knew he’d try to stop you.”

Any sign of Arya’s amusement disappeared, and her sister dropped the reins, coming closer to her. Sansa stared at her straight in the eyes, unwilling to step back, fully knowing it would be a battle of wills. “You will go to Riverrun with our brother and help him take the keep. There might even be a few Freys left for you… Jaime Lannister said one of them was named Lord of the Trident when he took it back. Once Riverrun is ours, you will march for King’s Landing with our army. You will not go there alone in some sort of suicide mission.”

Arya’s eyes held a deep, cool anger in them. “Can’t you understand why I need to kill Cersei? The war will be over, just like that. No sieges, no deaths, no deals. Daenerys can take her throne and leave us be. She won’t care about the North once she’ll be Queen; only Starks do.”

“Perhaps you are right, Arya” whispered Sansa, sighing. “Perhaps you’d be able to kill that wretched woman and end our war. But I know without any doubt that you would die with Cersei, and I am not willing to lose my sister.”

The youngest Stark scowled. “What is the sacrifice of one person compared to the good of everyone else?”

“Everything, if you’re that person” rebutted the lady of Winterfell. “Arya, I do understand how you feel. I hate Cersei with all my guts, and at the same time I’m terrified of her. I look forward to the day I will be free of her, but I’m not willing to let you waste your life to that end.”

Her plea was answered by silence, yet she could see a hint of doubt in her sister’s eyes. The black mare beat a hoof against the ground, eager to move, and Sansa knew she had to seize the moment.

“I don’t want to beg you, Arya” she added in a softer voice. “But please… don’t go alone. Don’t waste your life like this.”

Again, Arya didn’t say anything, and Sansa wondered whether it would have been better to bring Jon with her; after all, he had always been the only one capable of reasoning with her sister. Oh, she loved her, but she also knew they were still as different as fire and water.

“Is it true that the Kingsguards beat you whenever Joffrey ordered them to?”

Arya’s sudden question startled her, and at the same time threw her back to a time she had hoped to forget. Sansa thought about Meryn Trant striking her and stripping her dress in front of the whole court. She remembered the merciless slaps received from Preston Greenfield and Mandon Moore, Boros Blount punching her so hard that that her stomach had hurt for days, and Arys Oakheart’s regretful expression every time he was ordered to hit her.

“Yes, it is” she replied, her voice firm no matter how shaken she felt over those memories.

Arya’s eyes were dark, and they held a promise of vengeance. “Which ones?”

_All of them._ For a moment Sansa thought about lying, but she immediate discharged the thought. Arya seemed to always know when she did that.

“Meryn Trant, Boros Blount, Mandon Moore, Preston Greenfield” she recited, knowing fully well that those men would not receive any mercy from her sister. “And… Arys Oakheart. But he took no pleasure in it.”

“How noble of him” replied Arya flatly. “I shall take no pleasure in his death then. My only regret is that I already killed Meryn Trant; had I known how he mistreated you I would have made his death more painful.”

There was silence again, and Sansa took advantage of that moment to steady herself. Out of everything she had to suffer, the beatings from the Kingsguards were what had shattered any belief she might had about honour and chivalry. Those men were knights; they were supposed to protect the innocents, people like a scared little girl who had no one to fight for her. Yet they had obeyed her king, and the only one who had never touched her was Sandor Clegane, who was not a knight.

“I don’t understand. You’re the one who should wish for vengeance more than anyone else, yet you’re keeping me from going after her. You know I can kill her. You saw what I’m capable of. And yet...”

Oh, she understood her need for revenge. Yet, she loved Arya more than she wished for Cersei to pay for everything she had done. What good would it be to her if both her enemy and her sister were dead? After all their fights, after everything they had suffered, the only thing she wished for was living in Winterfell with all her siblings - Jon included, for he was still her brother no matter his real birth - in peace.

“Arya, even if you killed each one of them, even if you made them scream and feel how I felt… it wouldn’t change what happened” she said. “Vengeance is sweet, but it doesn’t change the past. We killed Littlefinger and got justice for what he did to our family, but it didn’t give us father or mother back. I let Ramsey’s hounds devour him alive, but it didn’t change the fact he raped me and murdered Rickon. If getting our revenge on Cersei means losing you, then I’ll gladly leave her to Daenerys and her dragons.”

Arya sighed, looking deeply annoyed. After a few seconds of tense silence, she stepped away from her black mare. “Fine, I won’t leave for King’s Landing until Jon does. But I’m doing it just because I want to watch his back… after all, he already got killed once.”

Sansa gave her a relieved smile. “Good. I am sure he will appreciate your help.”

“Aye, aye” scoffed her sister. Sansa made a gesture at one of the stableboys, who promptly led the horse away; Arya picked up her bags, and gave her an exasperated glare. “You know, you’re still very annoying.”

“And you’re still very strange” retorted Sansa with a hint of relieved affection in her voice. “Thank you, Arya.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now, it doesn’t suit you” she replied. Sansa rolled her eyes, and the two of them left the stables together. “I heard you spent some time with the Queen. Do you have a plan?”

“Of course I do” mumbled the lady of Winterfell, looking around her. “But this is not the time nor the place for that.”

“Let’s go to the godswood then.”

_______________________________________

 

There was something wild about the godswood, something that had scared her when she was a child. Back then, she had often felt uneasy under the gaze of the Old Gods, and had favoured the sept built for Catelyn Stark. Still, even as a child she had to admit the godswood was somehow fascinating, with a constant pull that was as old and mysterious as the North itself.

Her wedding with Ramsey had also taken place there. At first, after they had defeated the Boltons, Sansa had feared that being back in the godswood would trigger some terrible memories of that night. Yet, she had been surprised to find an unexpected peace whenever she visited the weirwood tree. She was a woman of the North, and she kept her father’s Gods, just as every Stark before them; the blood of the First Men flowed in her veins, and she had survived all those who had tried to crush her.

Somehow, that knowledge had helped her heal.

“Let’s see if I got this right” said Arya, her back leaned against the trunk of an oak and her arms crossed on her chest. “You want to gain Daenerys’ trust, become one of her councillors… and then convince her to give up the North?”

“You oversimplified, but yes, that’s the gist of it” Sansa nodded, turning to face her sister. “I spoke with her, and she might be more malleable than I thought. She has listened when I asked to delay the march for King’s Landing, and she seems bent on being different from her father. I can work with that. Don’t forget that I was able to deceive Littlefinger.”

Arya gave her a long look, then shook her head. “Are you really going to play games when the future of the North is at stake? When Jon’s life might be in danger?”

“Think about it. Do we have any way to obtain what we wish for in the shortest time possibile?” asked Sansa. Arya opened her mouth, but the lady of Winterfell beat her before she could say anything. “Without resorting to violence, obviously.”

Arya shot her a dirty look. “I guess we don’t.”

“Exactly” nodded Sansa. “We can’t force Daenerys to give up the North. She is more powerful than we are, and has no reason to accept our demands. Which means we have to be smart and play the long game, rather than antagonising her uselessly and obtain nothing. This way, we will also protect Jon from her.”

“Well, you won’t have a lot of time” noted Arya in a low voice. “She’s leaving in four weeks.”

“Hence why I shouldn’t be wasting my time running after my idiotic sister” replied Sansa with a half-hearted glare, to which Arya replied with a scoff.

“Apologies, my Lady” she replied sarcastically. “Sansa, if she becomes a threat...”

“I’ll do everything I can to stop her from becoming one” swore Sansa. “And if she does... then we’ll have a new conversation. But you need to let me handle this for a while.”

Arya nodded brusquely, her eyes hard as stone. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sansa. Don’t ever forget she is not one of us.”

“I know that. But I also know that we cannot solve every problem chopping heads, as I told you once” replied the lady of Winterfell. “Especially not a head who commands two dragons and thousands of soldiers.”

A sudden movement to their right attracted the girls attention, and after a moment a hare came out of a bush, scampering happily towards the pond. _Animals are starting to come back to the godswood. It’s a good sign._

“Well, at least you admitted you took the wrong approach with her” said Arya, chuckling softly. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Sansa gave her a sour look. “I’m not admitting anything. I simply chose a tactic which did not bring the results I was hoping for, and only a fool would persist when it’s clear that the outcome is not going to change.”

“Which means you were wrong.”

“Oh, bugger off, Arya” replied Sansa, without any real bite in her voice. “Don’t you have any blacksmith to visit?”

Her little sister shot a dirty look at her. “How did you know?”

“Perks of being the lady of Winterfell” said the redhead shrugging, almost proud of herself. “The kitchen maids are incredibly chatty, and the stableboys are always trying to impress them.”

_Even though there are some things I have no wish to know._

Arya smiled a wolfish grin, and Sansa was suddenly reminded of an annoying little girl who was wild and unladylike and always wore her heart on her sleeve. _Sometimes I miss her. Just as I miss being that stupid girl with foolish dreams._

“Sansa?”

“Mh?”

“Since you’re so bent on keeping me here for a while longer, perhaps you should send someone after the Hound.”

“Sandor? Why?” asked Sansa, puzzled.

“He left Winterfell a hour ago. He’s going to King’s Landing to kill his brother” replied Arya, shrugging her shoulders.

“For the love of the Mother… Podrick!”

 

_______________________________________

 

Daenerys raised her head to stare at Drogon and Rhaegal, worry clear in her eyes. Her children had healed well from the wounds of the battle, but the current shortage of food was starting to weary them; while she had been reassured that provisions would come soon from White Harbor, she couldn’t help but feeling anxious over the situation. Her dragons’ appetite was insatiable, and Daenerys feared that, sooner or later, they might attack a herd or even some humans to satiate their hunger. She could not allow that to happen, for she knew it would be the end of any peace with the northerners.

“Your Grace.”

Daenerys turned towards the voice, and saw Tyrion carefully approaching her, followed by Missandei and Grey Worm. She nodded at the couple and brushed her fingers against Drogon’s snout, reassuring him, then moved to meet her advisors. A few seconds later she heard the sound of bones being broken, a sign that her dragons were again chewing the deer carcass they had already cleaned.

_They need to hunt, and soon. They’re both hungry and restless; they won’t stay quiet for much longer._

She promised herself she would speak with Jon about that. She intended to go to his solar later today, and finally discuss all the matters that were still open between the two of them. But first, she needed to see what her advisors needed from her.

Tyrion raised his arm, handing out to her a parchment. “We have received a letter from Meereen. Good news, finally.”

Daenerys nodded and took the message, her eyes scanning it anxiously no matter Tyrion’s soothing words. She ignored the first lines, full of pompous words and pleasantries, and jumped to the point she was interested in.

_... The Seconds Sons have been able to keep the Queen’s peace without any hassle, and I am hopeful for a government to be formed soon. Four of the must powerful merchant families have joined their efforts and are building a popular assembly that will elect the new governors. Apparently they will be called ‘consuls’, and every two years there will be new elections. All the citizens of Meereen will be able to vote._

_I have recently spoken with Grazhar zo Galare, and his sister Qezza will run for one of the seats in the council. The city seems satisfied with this resolution, even though some people are still calling for the blood of those who supported the Sons of the Harpy…_

The letter continued with some information about the Second Sons and Daario himself, and a request for further orders once the new government was formed, but Daenerys could hardly focus on that. _We made it._

She felt almost exhilarated, and exhaled a long breath to calm herself. She had finally made it. Meereen was free from slavery, and the people were close to choose their own leaders.

“I guess I’ll need to take out ‘Queen of Meereen’ from my titles” said Daenerys, her voice full of commotion. She heard a chuckle coming from Missandei, and gave her a huge smile, happy that the trust she has reposed in her was being repaid. She was going to create a world where no one would ever know the chains of slavery, where no one would suffer what Missandei herself had suffered.

“You broke their wheel” commented quietly Tyrion. “Just as you promised.”

Daenerys shrugged, but she couldn’t keep herself from giving him a grin. “We will still need to keep an eye on Meereen to ensure they don’t turn back to their old traditions.”

“That is true, but we should still enjoy this triumph. You showed the world that you can change things, that yours are not only empty words. Soon, everyone will know of your victory” advised Tyrion, receiving a nod from the queen. The two of them started walking towards Winterfell, followed by Missandei and Grey Worm.

They walked in silence for a while, and Daenerys allowed herself to savour that victory. It was a truly needed one, for all she had been able to experience lately were defeats or hard-won victories full of sacrifice.

“The Unsullied are currently helping Davos Seaworth, just as you ordered. The Onion Knight was quite surprised by your offer” said suddenly Missandei, interrupting the silence.

“Lady Sansa mentioned the damage to the hot springs. I simply thought it would be a good chance to show again our goodwill” replies Daenerys, avoiding a huge puddle of mud. “She said she will let me know if the Unsullied can be employed for anything else, but I’m not sure whether that will actually happen.”

“She has” intervened Grey Worm with his Low Valyrian accent. “She came to see me this morning. She asked for some men to repair the granaries outside the city.”

Daenerys emitted a satisfied hum, glad that the lady of Winterfell had took her offer. She had thought her too proud for that, but apparently Sansa Stark was smart enough to set her pride aside when help was needed.

“May I assume you found some kind of common ground with Sansa?” asked Tyrion.

Daenerys gave him a glance, wondering whether that development was something he would be pleased of. She had thought for long about Sansa’s words about her councillors, and had resumed to keep a stricter leash on them; at the same time, she didn’t trust her enough to believe that the advice had been given without any kind of interest from her. “We have an agreement of sort, and I’m hoping to develop it further. She’s one of a kind, your former wife.”

“That she is, Your Grace” chuckled Tyrion. “So many good news in one days. I wonder what we did to deserve such luck.”

“Don’t jinx it” muttered the queen. “Come now. I need to speak with Jon.”

 

_______________________________________

 

As soon as she reached Winterfell, Daenerys headed to Jon’s solar, hoping to find him there. Unfortunately for her, she was still unfamiliar with the castle, and had ended up taking the wrong turn after one too many corridors; she had yet to meet any soldier or servant who could help her, and had been wandering for the past minutes looking for her way back.

“Your Grace.”

Daenerys turned, surprised by the voice behind her. Jaime Lannister was there, dressed in his armour with mud on his trousers and boots.

“Ser Jaime” she saluted, almost able to exclude any hostility from her voice. “I was looking for Jon Snow. Do you where he is?”

The man gave her a short nod, looking as discomforted as she felt. Good.

“Yes, Your Grace. The Starks are having some sort of... family misunderstanding, so to say, and Lord Snow is taking care of that. He should be back to his solar soon.”

“Then I shall go there” she replied quickly, wishing to get away from that conversation as soon as possible. Yet, before she could bolt away, she was suddenly struck by the thought that Jaime was the only one who could tell her about her father’s last day, and confirm whether everything she had heard about him was true. Sure, there was a chance he would lie too, but at least she could see whether his version of Aerys’ murder was the same she had heard previously.

“But first, Kingslayer... I have a question for you” she said, standing in front of him. There was steel in her eyes, as she tried to summon every inch of the authority she had often used in Meereen. “You were a Kingsguard. You draped the white cloak on your shoulders and swore to protect your king from harm at all the times. You were supposed to be the pinnacle of knightly virtues. And yet... you failed in all your duties. Why?”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes, gone so rapidly that Daenerys almost wondered whether she had imagined it. “I assume you know who was your father, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically. “There’s a reason why we call him the Mad King. Well, many reasons.”

“No matter that, he was still your king” she said, less firmly than before. “You swore an oath to protect him…”

He snorted loudly. “A few days in Winterfell and you’re already speaking like a Stark.”

“How come?”

The Kingslayer walked near the window, his eyes lost in the past. “I remember Ned Stark saying the exact same thing. He had just seen the body of the madman who burned aline his brother and father, yet he stared at me and asked how I could have betrayed my king” explained Jaime, his voice full of bitterness. “Any man would have thrown himself at my feet and thanked me for that. Anyone, except bloody Eddard Stark, with his honour and all, who would have taken my head right there if my father’s men had not intervened.”

_Just like Cregan Stark obtained justice for the King he had fought against… Lord Stark wanted to get justice for my father, even though he had committed terrible crimes against his family. These Starks are truly a wonder._

“I have the feeling that being compared to Eddard Stark is a sign of respect here” she replied, with a challenging gaze. “He certainly knew what honour would demand. Something you, nor your bastard son who took his head, could understand.”

“He was a honorable man” admitted the knight, with a regretful nod. “Yet he couldn’t understand why I had to do it. Gods, only one could, and she’s probably the noblest person I’ve ever met.”

“Try me” she challenged him. “Make me understand why you betrayed your king.”

Jaime gave her a long look, as if he was assessing her. After a few seconds of silence, he released a deep sigh and nodded.

“As Your Grace wishes” he said. “Let me tell you about that day then. My father had just started sacking the city, and I was in the throne room with Aerys and his Hand, Rossart. Perhaps you don’t know, but I was a Kingsguard only in name; in truth I was a hostage of the Crown, for your father didn’t trust mine.”

_Rightly so,_ thought Daenerys. Everything she had heard about Tywin Lannister had led her to believe he was one of the most despicable men ever born in the Seven Kingdoms, and she had been particularly grateful to Tyrion for killing his father before she had to deal with him.

“Rossart himself wasn’t even a Lord. He was a member of the Alchemists’ Guild, rose to power after your father had made them a peculiar request” he continued with a deep bitterness in his voice.

“Wildfire” she interrupted him. “I know that. Tyrion told me the story.”

Jamie frowned, then shook his head. “So you know already what your father wanted to do, don’t you? Burn the entire city, so that Robert could be king over charred bones and cooked meat.”

The queen gave him a terse nod, and the Kingslayer exhaled a soft sigh. “I tried to convince Aerys to let me make terms with my father, but he refused and told me to bring him his head. Then he ordered Rossart to burn the cashes of wildfire.”

_I’m the blood of the dragon._

Daenerys thought about her brother, and the way he had been convinced that fire wouldn’t arm him. Did Aerys think the same? Or was he so consumed in his plan that he just wished to bring his enemies down with him?

“I was only seventeen. Obeying to the orders of my king meant killing my father and watch hundreds of thousands of innocents burn. Where was the justice in that?” retold Jaime softly. “I just… couldn’t. No matter my loyalty to the king I was a knight, Your Grace, and back then I still believed in my oath. _In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent._ Those were the words that came to my mind after Aerys ordered to destroy the city.”

There was a moment where Jaime interrupted his tale to look at her straight in her eyes. “And then I made my choice. I stabbed him in the back, saving the lives of everyone in King’s Landing and dishonouring myself for the rest of my days.”

Daenerys clenched her teeth, wishing she could summon the fury she had felt years ago, when Viserys had told her about their father’s death for the first time; yet she felt just a deep sense of shame for what Arys had done, and almost a hint of understanding towards the Kingslayer. _I don’t want to sympathise with him, damn it._

“If this is not enough to make you understand why I did it, then I can tell you more. After all, the burnings were just a part of it. I could speak for hours about the tortures and the rapes” replied Jaime cheerlessly. “Did you know that each time he burned someone he went to visit your mother Rhaella in her chambers? Night after night, I listened to him while he raped her, heard her screaming for help, sobbing, begging for someone to intervene. Once I almost barged into the room when it became too much, but Jonothor Darry stopped me. ‘We are sworn to protect her as well’, I said. ‘We are, but not from him’, he replied. And we just stood there, outside your mother’s room, until the screams stopped.”

_A child of rape. I’m a child of rape._

That information made Daenerys sick to her stomach, and she felt the sudden need to puke. Her sight became blurry for the tears she was trying not to shed, and she could feel her hands shaking with rage and disgust. Jamie Lannister didn’t say anything, his eyes pointed at the view outside of the window, and Daenerys was suddenly grateful to him for trying to give her some space.

A murdered, a torturer, a rapist, and the worst king that had ever seated on the Iron Throne. That was who her father was. Viserys had never told her anything about their father being violent towards him or Rhaella… yet, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe Jaime, she had a feeling he wasn’t lying.

_Ser Barristan must have known it. Why didn’t he say anything?_

She wondered whether Rhaegar had known what Aerys was doing to mother, and if he had done anything to stop him. Brave and noble Rhaegar… was he though? Had he known what their mother had to suffer? Had he tried to stop their father? She had so many questions, yet she knew Jaime Lannister would not be able to answer them. There was no one who could…

_Varys. He was there. He must know._

The realisation brought a new calmness over her, and Daenerys breathed slowly, almost releasing the shock she felt. Varys had been Master of Whisperers during her father’s rule, and surely he could answer to her questions. She would speak with him soon, and put the matter to rest.

Once again, Daenerys resolved to be different from those who had preceded her. _I am not my father and I never will be like him._

“Thank you for telling me” she said at last, once she was sure enough that her voice would not tremble. It wasn’t as firm as she wished to, but the Kingslayer either didn’t pick on that or avoided any comment, as he simply bowed.

“If there’s a man capable of understanding how it feels to have a monster in the family that’s me, Your Grace” commented Jaime. “I know you don’t trust me, and you have all the reason to. But I know what it means to believe in your family and then find out you were wrong.”

“The wildfire behind King’s Landing... Cersei used to destroy the Temple of Baelor, didn’t she?”

Jaime lowered his head shamefully. “She did” he admitted. “I love my sister, Your Grace. Everyone knows that. Gods help me, a part of me loves her even now that she has become the closest thing to the King I murdered. I cannot condone what she did, yet I wasn’t strong enough to stop her.”

Daenerys inclined her head, thoughtful. It was as if the Gods were mocking them; the man who had sacrificed his own honour to save thousands of people had not been able to take the same choice once he had been forced to choose between the woman he loved and his vows.

“You know I’ll leave for King’s Landing soon, and there I’ll face your sister” said the queen, her voice low. “Should you need to choose, what will you do? Would you protect your sister, or would you fight for the innocents?”

There was a firmness in his eyes she had only seen once before - during their first meeting, when he had swore to protect the livings. “I made an oath to Catelyn Stark, swearing I would protect her daughters, and then I promised you I would fight for the living. The Starks and that oath are my last chance at honour, Your Grace.”

She gave him a short nod, without saying anything, yet she could not help but feel some kind of begrudging respect for him. Not only he had admitted his mistakes with Cersei, but he was trying to fix them. Daenerys had met many men in her life, and only few of them would have done the same as Jaime.

It felt weird, and almost wrong, to think about him as someone who was not only her father’s murderer. _I still hate him, but… in a way, I can understand why he did it._

“Ser Jaime. Could you tell me about my mother?”

She couldn’t say if Jamie had been surprised by her request, but his mouth hinted a smile, and he made a gesture towards the seats in front of the fireplace. Once they both sat down, he spoke again, his voice holding a sort of warmness she had never noticed before.

“Queen Rhaella was a kind soul. She was always mindful of her duty, and found the greatest joy in her sons…”

 

_______________________________________

 

“… And that’s how I convinced Arya to stay here until you leave.”

Jon stared at her with a somehow desolated look, as if he couldn’t really believe what had happened earlier. To be fair, neither did Sansa; but at that point she was almost used to Arya defying any expectations she might have for her.

Her brother had found them in the godswood, yet Arya had left them soon, clearly avoiding the scolding she was surely going to get from him. Sansa and Jon had went back to the castle, and once they had reached his solar they had started discussing Arya’s almost successful flight.

“At least she listened to you this time. It must be a first” commented her brother, gaining a light scoff from the lady of Winterfell.

“Not a first, but close. And to be fair, I only delayed the inevitable; you’ll still need to let her join you once you march for Riverrun.”

Jon’s growl was a clear giveaway of his dissatisfaction with that. “I’d rather have her here in Winterfell, safe from any danger, than...”

“She won’t stay put” interrupted Sansa, firmly. “You know that. I could order all my guards to surveil her, but she would still find a way to sneak off to King’s Landing. I know it’s not the ideal solution, but bringing her with you is the best agreement we could find. And I trust she’ll keep you safe.”

“She’s my little sister, I’m the one who is supposed to keep her safe” muttered Jon broodily. “Yet I know it’s likely to be the opposite.”

Sansa gave him a kind smile, choosing to keep herself from confirming that and knowing fully well she didn’t need to. Still, she could understand the admission was a huge blow to his pride.

“At least you’ll be able to steer her away from causing some political disaster. I love Arya, but diplomacy isn’t exactly her forte, and we can’t afford to irritate any southern lord. We’re already busy with our own bannermen.”

“Neither is mine. But I’ve been brushing up on my old lessons with Maester Wolkan; I have a feeling our future battles will be fought with words, rather than swords” noticed her brother.

“Well, you convinced Daenerys to come to our aid. Your words can’t be that bad” said Sansa with an amused glint in her eyes, echoing his own words from some days before. “Still, if I have to be completely honest, I’d feel much better knowing the two of you are together. Arya will have your back, and hopefully you’ll be able to keep her away from causing too much trouble. It’s a win for everyone, in my opinion.”

Jon sighed, then opened his arms wide in a gesture of surrender. “Then she’ll come with me. Ser Davos too, obviously. Unless it’s a problem for you, Brienne and Jaime Lannister will stay here. What about the Hound? Did you send anyone after him?”

“Brienne is taking care of that” reassured Sansa. “And Ser Jaime can stay here as our guest. I don’t enjoy his presence, but it’s better to keep him away from King’s Landing.”

Her brother gave a brief nod, and wrote something on a parchment that was laying on his desk. The two of them remained silent for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence. It was almost fitting that, out of all her siblings, Jon ended up being the one she felt most comfortable with.

“Tell me, Jon. How have you been?” she asked, throwing him a concerned look. Her brother sighed and lowered his eyes, and Sansa was able to see the lie he was going to tell even before he could open his mouth. “And I mean how you’ve really been, not the nonsense you’re saying to everyone else.”

“Could be better” he admitted, pushing aside some dark locks from his face. “I keep thinking over and over about what Bran told me. Before the battle I couldn’t really waste any time reflecting on that. There was too much to plan, too many things that could have gone wrong… but now that we just need to wait for our armies to be ready I can’t stop my mind from wondering.”

Sansa gave him a sad smile, trying to not show any pity in her gaze, for she knew her brother would not tolerate that. “What questions do you have?”

“So many” he sighed, sinking into his chair. “Most of them for our father. Why didn’t he say anything? Was there anyone who knew, perhaps your mother? Had we met again, would he have lied again?”

“I don’t think mother knew, Jon” replied Sansa. She was sure Catelyn had believed him to be the illegitimate son of her husband; if she had known the truth she would have certainly treated him in a very different way. Family, duty, honour. Jon would have been family, thought the lady of Winterfell with deep regret.

“Me neither” confirmed Jon. There was a flicker of bitterness in his eyes, and Sansa wondered whether her brother was thinking about the way his life could have been different.

“You know… for all my life I wished to be a Stark. When I was a child I often dreamed of saving you or Arya from some bandit, and to be rewarded with a true name. I hoped that one day father would legitimise me, and that your mother would embrace me as her son” said Jon, with a bitter expression of his face. “And now I do have a name, but I hate it. I hate what it represents, I hate what it means, and I hate that Eddard Stark is not my real father. I’m supposed to be Aegon Targaryen, the heir to the throne, and yet I would give everything to be just Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.“

_Oh, Jon._

“I can’t imagine how you must feel” she admitted. “Have you spoken with Daenerys about this?”

Jon shook his head, frustrated. “Not really. We had a… conversation, let’s say, the night before our war council. She asked me to keep this secret from you and Arya. I think she fears her claim would be in danger if the truth came out.”

_Well, she’s not wrong,_ thought Sansa drily. A male would always come before a female for the Westerosi law - and a son would always come before a sister.

Yet, Cersei Lannister didn’t have any claim to the throne when she took it; she simply grabbed it because she was the most powerful player around. Heir or not, Sansa doubted that anyone would be willing to openly support Jon as King of the Seven Kingdoms, not when his aunt had two dragons at her disposal.

“If I know Tyrion, once he finds out about this he will propose a marriage between you and Daenerys” she commented, drawing an almost horrified expression from Jon. “Oh, don’t make that face. It would make sense: rather than have two Targaryens with separate claims you could join and rule together.”

_Even though I don’t know how I could use that for my plan._

“She’s my aunt” protested Jon, looking visibly shaken. “Gods be merciful, I love her, but she’s still my kin. I can’t…”

“Well, it’s not unusual for Targaryens to marry each other.”

Her attempt to console Jon fell flat as her brother shot her a sour look. “I am not a Targaryen, Sansa.”

“There have been some precedents in our family too. Jonnel Stark married his niece…” Jon gave her another look, this time almost sardonic. Sansa almost bit her own tongue, knowing she had not used the best example. “And even our grandfather Rickard married one of his cousins. It might not be common, but it’s not exactly unheard of.”

“Sansa” he said in that deep, brooding voice of his. “She’s my aunt. My father’s little sister.”

She sighed again. “Yes, she is. Perhaps it would be better to continue this conversation with some wine.”

_______________________________________

 

After one - or maybe four - cups of wine the conversation had considerably cheered up, and Jon was sporting a half smile that made her wish to laugh. She felt a bit lightheaded too, and while a part of her was cautioning against that moment of weakness, she was too tired and wary to fight her need to unwind. And Jon was the only person with whom she felt safe enough to show that.

The topic of their conversation had changed many times over the past half hour, but now it was back to Daenerys Targaryen - precisely what had attracted Jon to her. It was a long list, to Sansa’s chagrin.

“Well, she is beautiful” confirmed Sansa. She was mature enough to notice and admit that Daenerys Targaryen was a true beauty, just as Margaery Tyrell had been - though the two of them could have not been more different.

Margaery’s beauty had been a southern one, made of effortless charm, smiles, and pretty words. She had been like a light breeze in a summer day, or at least she thought so, back when she had been young and foolish.

Daenerys was different. She had a kind of beauty that was almost etherial, foreign, full of promises of danger and power and conflict. She was fire made woman, a storm whose direction could never be predicted. Yes, she could understand what had drawn Jon to Daenerys, especially after speaking with her.

“And brave. And has a nice humour… but she’s my aunt” replied her brother, his gaze darkening again.

“I know, Jon. You said that seven times already.”

Jon made a sheepish smile, and Sansa felt a sudden rush of affection for him. Her brother too looked like he needed to unwind - perhaps the weight of the past months had finally caught up with him.

A sudden knock interrupted her thoughts, and after Jon’s invitation to come in Maester Wolkan made his entrance in the solar. The two of them sobered immediately, almost like children caught redhanded.

“My Lord. My Lady” he saluted, bowing slightly. “A raven for you, my Lord.”

Jon nodded, taking the letter, and started reading it without a word. Maester Wolkan looked for a moment at the two siblings, then left the solar, closing the door behind him.

“It’s from Lord Reed” said Jon after a while, handing her the parchment. “He apologised for not participating to the battle of Winterfell due to his illness and extended his congratulations over our victory.”

“Nothing new then” commented Sansa. “We already knew that. He sent all the crannogmen he could spare to help us.”

“Aye, but that’s not the important part. He asked that I travel to Greywater Watch as soon as possible. Said he doesn’t have much time before he succumbs to his illness, and that it’s important he speaks with me before his death.”

Sansa made a non-committal sound, her eyes scouring the letter. “Well, he’s being quite mysterious, isn’t he?”

“He probably intends to speak to me about my birth. After all, he’s the only one who survived the Tower of Joy with father.”

Jon looked terribly uncertain, yet something in his eyes gave away how he wished to go. It was something Sansa could understand; speaking with Howland Reed was probably his only chance to know what had truly happened the day his mother died. And, perhaps, he could receive an answer to all the questions he had.

At the same time, she imagined Jon would be loath to leave when Daenerys was still there; while the Queen had been a example of utter politeness ever since the war meeting, he probably feared what might happen if he wasn’t there to sooth any conflict. Still, it was probably his only chance to learn about his origins. She couldn’t deny him that, not after everything he had done for her.

“Then you should go” replied Sansa. Jon gave her a surprised look, to which she replied shrugging her shoulders. “I know Bran told you everything he saw, but he’s not exactly… sentimental, let’s say. Lord Reed might have some interesting details for you. Go to Greywater Watch and speak with him, before it’s too late.”

“But…”

“I can handle Daenerys” she said, her tone more confident that she actually felt. “I had an interesting discussion with her yesterday. I’m sure I’ll be able to reason with her.”

“So you took my advice, aye?” asked Jon with a half smile. He looked happy at the thought that she was getting along with Daenerys, and Sansa felt a pang of guilt over her real motives for that approach. “What about Lord Glover’s trial? He should be here soon.”

_Damn Robett. At best he’ll be here in two weeks, but it might be too late for Jon,_ realised Sansa. _But if I’m to rule the North I’ll need to be prepared for this kind of decisions. I might as well start with Glover._

“Bran and I will remain in Winterfell. We can lead his trial in your stead.”

Her brother’s gaze became suddenly serious. “Sansa, you know there can be only one sentence for him. And you know we follow the old ways.”

She nodded. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I know, Jon. I’m prepared to take that burden.”

Jon remained quiet for a while, clearly pondering things, then nodded. “Fine, I’ll go. I’ll bring Arya with me, so you won’t have to worry about her. And I’ll try to convince Daenerys to let me take Rhaegal; hopefully having one less dragon to worry about will relieve our supplies.”

“Please do” muttered Sansa. “Those beasts are essentially a bottomless pit.”

Jon laughed softly, and poured a drink for both of them. “Aye. You didn’t see them closely, did you? They’re magnificent.”

“I have no doubt about that, but they’re still terrifying” replied Sansa gloomily. “Oh, now that I think about it, there’s something else you can do. Lord Reed has a daughter, Meera; she guided Bran in his journey beyond the Wall and lost her brother Jojen to protect him. She’s the only reason why we got him back, yet I wasn’t able to thank her properly since she left too soon…”

“I’ll do that myself” reassured Jon. “I will also ask her to come to Winterfell and swear loyalty to you once she becomes the Lady of Greywater Watch. Mayhap Bran could benefit from her presence.”

Sansa doubted so, for it seemed that nothing could shook Bran from his torpor. Not even Theon’s death had drawn any reaction from him, and the lady of Winterfell was now almost convinced that her brother was dead, completely replaced by the Three Eyed Raven. She opened her mouth to explain that, yet she was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

Before either of them could say anything Daenerys Targaryen made her entrance, and despite her cool expression, Sansa was able to notice immediately a flash of distress in her eyes.

“Jon, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one was a beast to write! Jaime is a fascinating character, but writing him is tough, especially with the way the show messed him up. Channeling the "asshole Lannister/honourable knight/man who made mistakes" vibe was reeeeeeeeeally difficult. I hope I was able to write him in character! Still, I loved writing that part- a scene between Jamie and Dany was something I was really looking forward to in the show. Rhaella's character is almost never discussed in GoT, but the books explore her a bit more. I imagine Daenerys knows nothing of the way her father treated her mother, otherwise she wouldn't really care about avenging him.
> 
> Again, thank you SO much for your kind comments. Again, I was blown away with the response I got! In particular, I'd like to thank Lakiu for the typos correction :D as usual, please let me know if there's anything that needs to be fixed.  
> Many of you have raised really interesting points, and I hope the future chapters will clarify some of your questions :D I'm also very curious about a point raised by Creighton: what do you guys think of Dany's political philosophy? What does she mean with breaking the wheel?
> 
> As you noticed, trust is again a strong theme here, and it will continue to be, along with the different ways our characters perceive power, ruling, and the conflict between idealism and realism. Daenerys wants to change the status quo; Sansa just cares about ensuring her people are fed and warm. At some point they'll need to meet halfway, and I hope you'll enjoy the journey.
> 
> Regarding Sansa and Dany... no scenes between them today, but something I love about GoT and ASOIAF are the endless possibilities of different interactions between the characters. While Jon's departure will give them more occasions to interact, my aim is develop them not only as a couple, but also as individual characters. And for that to happen they will need to speak with more people than just the two of them. And, to be completely honest, I love the bonds of family and friendship that link them to other characters.
> 
> Also, I updated the tags in this story and put a trigger alert at the beginning of this chapter, because the topics will be discussed further. I'm not really familiar with trigger alerts, so please let me know if anything has to be changed.
> 
> Now, I'm currently on holiday, but I'll try to update as soon as I can :) at worst I'll be writing a lot and post once I'm back. Thank you again, and please let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter IV Preview
> 
> _"Rhaenys was stabbed so many times that her body could not be even recognised, and my half-brother was nothing but a babe when his skull was dashed against a wall. Before being killed, Elia Martell was raped by the same man who had just massacred her son. What kind of father allows his own children to be murdered while he’s off fighting a war for another woman? What kind of husband leaves his wife unprotected?"_


	4. Chapter IV - The Break Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Jon finally have to face each other and the ghosts between them.
> 
>  
> 
> All rights to Game of Thrones and A Song of Fire and Ice go to their respective owners.

Once Daenerys had finished speaking with Jaime Lannister, she took a few minutes to steady herself before moving to Jon’s solar. Her mind was still swirling with thoughts about the conversation she had had. A part of her was pleading her to reject everything she had been told by Jaime, yet she knew there was an undeniable truth. The stain on the past of her family was even darker than she had thought, and the things her father had done were truly unforgivable. She had called him an evil man before, but only then she could truly see the extent of his crimes; only then she could understand why the people of Westeros would think of her with fear that she would be just like him.

She had been so horrified after learning the truth that she had decided she would do whatever would be needed to prove she was not Aerys’ daughter. No, if there was a parent Daenerys was going to be inspired by it was her mother, Rhaella. Jaime had retold everything he knew about her; it wasn’t much, since he had served Aerys only for a year, yet it was enough for her. He had spoken of the few weeks he spent in King’s Landing guarding the queen during the tourney of Harrenhal, and recalled a time when her mother had been truly happy.

Apparently Rhaella had been a gentle person, despite everything she had suffered. She had loved and doted on Viserys, and Jaime had been bold enough to say she would have done the same with her, had she survived childbirth. Yes, she had often closed her eyes to Aerys’ madness and cruelty, yet she had always tried to bring kindness to those who were close to her. According to Jaime, Rhaella had even visited Rickard Stark before his trial; Daenerys wished she could have known what her mother had told him.

Once the Kingslayer had left, the queen had allowed herself a few minutes to grieve for a woman she would never meet. Perhaps if Rhaella had travelled with them to Pentos Viserys wouldn’t have become a monster; perhaps Daenerys would have grown up happy, protected by a mother with kind eyes and a smile with hidden sadness, but a smile nonetheless. _And perhaps_ , she had mused, _I wouldn’t have become the person I am now._

She had stopped herself before her mind could be swarmed by the endless possibilities that laid ahead. No good would come from dwelling on the past: she could only walk tall into the future, and commit herself to leave a better legacy than her father’s.

And that, of course, started with facing the one person she had wronged just a few days before - Jon. Which was the reason why she was currently standing in her Warden’s solar, and found it occupied by him and his sister Sansa.

The two of them immediately stood up, surprise clear on their faces, and the younger Stark bowed slowly. “Your Grace.”

“Lady Sansa. Jon” saluted Daenerys, shooting a curious look at the half empty bottle of wine. It was quite unusual to see Jon drinking in the middle of the day, and for what she had seen of his sister, she wasn’t a big drinker either. Sansa immediately tried to move the carafe without being noticed, failing miserably. “I see the two of you were having a good time?”

“I was just trying to teach my brother how to enjoy a drink different from that awful ale from the Night Watch, Your Grace” replied the lady of Winterfell, with all the dignity she could muster. Jon emitted a light scoff, earning an exasperated look from the queen.

“Well, I’d be interested to know if you succeeded, my lady. However, Jon, there is something I need to discuss with you” said Daenerys, trying her best to hide the amusement in her voice. It was odd seeing the two of them being so lighthearted, and no matter her internal turmoil, she felt glad Jon could count on the support of his sister… well, cousin. “It has a certain urgency, but I’d rather not speak now if you’re intoxicated.”

“I’m fine, Da… my Queen” replied Jon, correcting himself. He made a gesture towards one of the chairs in front of him, inviting her to sit down. “My sister and I were just done talking. Sansa, could you leave us, please?”

The lady of Winterfell nodded, raising from her seat. “Of course, Jon” she said, before giving her another short bow. “Your Grace.”

“My lady” replied Daenerys, sitting down. A few moments later Sansa left the room, closing the door behind her, and Jon and the queen were left alone. Her nephew gave her a smile that couldn’t quite reach his eyes, and Daenerys knew immediately something was bothering him. “Is everything all right?”

“Aye” he replied, without elaborating further. “What about you? It’s been some days from the last time we spoke. My apologies for that, but I’ve been quite busy.”

“I know, Jon, don’t worry” she replied. “And I’m fine too. I just had a busy day and some… unexpected news. You might be interested to know that the people of Meereen will soon be called to vote for an election; once they choose their leader I will relinquish its crown.”

Jon tilted his head, his dark eyes ignited with fascination. “You’re truly letting them decide then?”

“Of course” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “What would be the point of being their queen? I plan to seat on the Iron Throne, having a kingdom on the other side of the Narrow Sea wouldn’t be of any use to me.”

It was more than that, of course, but she wasn’t willing to waste time to explain her reasoning. Essos was behind her, and she would never go back. That was all he needed to know.

“The Second Sons will be stationed in Meereen for a while longer to deal with any complication, so they’ll be unable to join us for our fight against Cersei” she continued, her thoughts wandering briefly to Daario Naharis. There was no way he could come to Westeros - not now she had Jon. “However, I am confident we’ll be able to deal with her with the forces at our disposal. And I plan on releasing them from our contract once I sit on the throne.”

“I see. Congratulation then” replied Jon, giving her a smile. “I’m glad the Second Sons were successful. You have truly earned your title of breaker of chains, haven’t you?”

“That I did” said Daenerys, returning the smile. When he didn’t elaborate further, she let go a low breath, building up the courage to face the next topic. “Jon, I wanted to discuss with you what happened the night of the feast” she explained, her eyes trying to find her nephew’s. “I know I was… harsh, in the way I asked you to not saying anything to your family.”

“You didn’t ask” replied Jon in a calm tone. “You ordered.”

Daenerys sighed, giving him a regretful nod. “I did” she said. “Jon, I have not changed my mind - I still believe we should keep the truth about your birth a secret. However, I know I was wrong in the way I refrained you from saying anything to your sisters. I was upset and you were the closest person I could get angry at, even though I shouldn’t have. I’d like to apologise for that.”

Jon didn’t say anything, and instead poured some wine for both of them. He moved one of the cups towards her, and Daenerys accepted gladly, hoping the alcohol would help her relax her nerves.

“I accept your apologies” started Jon after a long sip. “I know we were not in the best place that night, not with everything that had happened. We lost so many people, and we didn’t let ourselves mourn them properly. So, I forgive you.”

A relieved smile opened on Daenerys’ face, yet before she could say anything Jon started talking again. “However, we need to discuss your unwillingness to let me be honest with my sisters.”

 _Here we go,_ thought Daenerys tiredly. That was a conversation she had hoped to avoid, but it seemed Jon was unwilling drop the matter.

“I know the bond you have with your sisters has the outmost importance to you” she started saying prudently. “And I understand why you would wish to be honest with them. And you will, one day. But not now. Not when we’re so close to our goal.”

“They’re my sisters. We have no secret for each others, and this is not something I intend to keep hidden from them” he replied, discontent clear on his tense expression. “Also, the night of the feast you seemed completely against the idea of ever revealing the truth to anyone. Yet now you’re saying that one day I’ll be able to tell them. Why the change of mind?”

Daenerys hesitated for a few seconds, unsure whether to reveal him the plans she intended to put in motion or not. _Perhaps it would be better to settle this once and for all. Who knows… maybe if I explain what will happen he’ll understand my reservations._

“You already know that I was cursed. My womb will never quick, and I shall not be able to provide a heir for the throne” she started, her voice collected no matter how much it still hurt to admit that. Her nephew immediately opened his mouth as if to interrupt her, and Daenerys raised a hand to stop him. “Let me finish, Jon. I will bear no children, which means I will be the last Targaryen… unless I recognise you as my nephew.”

His eyes widened, and again he looked ready to protest. “I sacrificed too much for my dynasty to end with me, Jon. I have a duty to my House, and I need to ensure its survival at all cost” she continued, ignoring his attempts. “I am not willing to do it before we actually seize the throne, for only then it will be safe enough to reveal the truth, but it will eventually happen.”

“What if I don’t want to be a Targaryen… or your heir? What if being Jon Snow is all I wish?” he asked, his expression hardening. “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want to become King in the North, nor your Warden. And now you plan on recognising me as your heir?”

Jon’s question was so unexpected she couldn’t find an immediate response for him. Who would have passed on the opportunity of becoming the most powerful man of Westeros? And even refusing her offer of legitimisation… Seven Hells, the man was honourable to the point of being frustrating.

“It’s the only way I can ensure the survival of our family name, Jon” she explained, after a short sip from her cup. “And it’s also the safest resolution to ensure there are no conflicts between us. Once we win the throne, you will swear again fealty to me and I will recognise you as Aegon Targaryen, my rightful heir.”

“This is madness” replied her nephew, shaking his head. “I told you already I don’t want the Iron Throne. I have no wish, nor intention, to be crowned.”

“Jon, we spoke about this. What you want will not matter” replied Daenerys, tiredly. “Once everyone knows about your lineage, there will be people who will try to take advantage of it, even the ones who are closer to you. They will crown you, not caring about your loyalty or your wishes, and pit us against each other. In the end they will force us to destroy the other. This is the only way to protect us.”

“Sansa would never do that” said Jon, his voice raising barely. “She’s a Stark. She wouldn’t break an oath…”

“Jon, honour is a luxury women like Sansa and I cannot afford” she interrupted. “I have no doubt she wouldn’t betray you, but she wouldn’t be bound to uphold an oath she did not make. You were the one who bent the knee, not her. And the fact you immediately spoke of Sansa, even though I did not mention her, shows you know this as much as I do.”

There was a flash of surprise in Jon’s eyes, followed by reluctant admittance. “Still, my sisters would never betray their words” he replied after a few seconds, stubbornly. “This is important to me, Dany. They’re my family.”

So am I, thought Daenerys bitterly. Jon seemed to keep forgetting that, and even though she could understand why the bonds between him and the Starks were stronger than the ones that tied the two of them, she would have appreciated to receive at least a part of the consideration he reserved for his siblings.

“You must understand, Jon…” she said, looking at him with an earnest expression. “I believe you. You have my outmost trust. But telling the truth now, even just to your sisters, would just make both of us exposed to our enemies. You told me once that you would never swear a oath you couldn’t uphold, for words stop meaning anything then. I am not going to ask you to swear... but as your Queen I will ask you to refrain from speaking about this until the throne is in our hands.”

It was again an order - one gave with different words, and tone, yet an order nonetheless. Daenerys hated both herself for giving that command and Jon for forcing her in the situation, for being so stubborn, so unwilling to listen to her plea.

_Why can’t he just trust me this one time? I’m only asking to wait. I am not even ordering him to keep this secret for his entire life. It will be just a matter of months._

“I fear it’s going to be more complicated than you think” said Jon at last, exhaling a long and tired breath. He took in his hand a parchment that was laying over his desk, and leaned towards her. “Read this, please.”

Daenerys frowned, perplexed, her eyes distractingly scanning the few lines written on the parchment. “A bannerman commanding his liege Lord to visit him? And urging to travel as soon as possible, too. Shouldn’t he be the one to come to Winterfell if he has any grievance for you?”

“Normally, yes” he nodded. “However, it seems he’s dying. His health has been failing him for a long time, and I fear he won’t have much left.”

Daenerys nodded almost politely, unsure about what she should have said. It was a sad matter, of course, but what did it have to do with Jon’s parentage? She opened her mouth to ask, but Jon beat her to it.

“Howland Reed survived the Tower of Joy with my father… and he is the only person alive who witnessed what happened there with his very own eyes.”

 

_____________________________

 

Daenerys had yet to say anything after Jon’s revelation about Howland Reed, her mind racing with anxious thoughts about the infinite possibilities. She could feel the anxiety gripping on her stomach, building up a bundle of nerves. How come she had never been informed of this man? Who was he? Had he ever revealed the truth to anyone else?

_This is a nightmare. A complete nightmare. At this rate I’ll end up finding out half of the kingdom knows and no one is saying anything out of sheer politeness._

“I need to go seeing him. I will never have another chance to be told about my mother by someone who met her” continued Jon, his voice almost pleading. “He travelled south with my father and fought at the Tower of Joy. Maybe he will be able to tell me something about her last day.”

Of course he wanted to go. Gods forbid he even entertained the idea of being named a Targaryen, yet if his Stark ancestry was involved then there was nothing that could stop him. She could feel her own annoyance quickly turning into wrath, and had to force herself to reign over it before it could reach its boiling point. She reminded herself she had come with the precise intention to quell their disagreements, not to start a new one.

“If my wish to hear about my mother is not enough, there is another reason why I need to go” added Jon. “Judging by this letter, Lord Reed might be intentioned to tell me of the true identity of my mother. If I don’t go, he might entrust this information to someone else, and one more person would know about it. If I go... then we could successfully keep the secret of my birth restricted to a closer circle.”

Daenerys didn’t say anything, not trusting herself to speak yet. “I understand the reason why you wish to keep this information under wrap” he continued. “I personally believe my family is entitled to know, but I see why you wouldn’t want everyone else to be aware of my parentage. I don’t want to be used by someone who will pit us against each other, and if I go to Greywater Watch I should be able to stop that from happening. It’s a win for both of us.”

It makes sense, thought Daenerys with a sense of deep discontent. Yes, if Howland Reed entrusted the information to someone else she would be back at square one, and too many people were already aware of the truth; it was crucial to ensure it was not shared further. At the same time, she felt a certain unease about allowing Jon to face lord Reed alone. What if he discovered something that made him change his mind about pressing his claim?

_Perhaps I should go with him._

She entertained the thought just for a few moments before discharging it. No, she couldn’t do that. Leaving Winterfell right then would have been pointless; she was still to start working on swaying Sansa Stark to her side and gaining Yohn Royce’s support, a task that was critical to ensure the fealty of the North and the Vale.

Still, sending someone with Jon was probably going to be a good call. Maybe she could ask Greyworm to accompany him to Greywater Watch, and keep an eye on her nephew. Her commander seemed to be already suspicious of him, and his loyalty knew no bounds, so he’d be the best choice for that task.

“Your argument makes sense, Jon, but how are we going to justify your departure?” she asked at last, her voice half resigned.

“We can think of something” he said reassuringly. “Perhaps we could say I need to leave in advance with a vanguard to ensure the kingsroad doesn’t need any maintenance. The army will be travelling with thousands of horses and carriages, it would make sense for us to ensure they are able to move without being constantly stuck in mud, or breaking some wheels because of holes and stones.”

“Yes, it would be believable” admitted Daenerys, somehow reluctantly. “I will give you leave to go… if you promise you will not share the truth about your birth with anyone. And that, should you meet someone who knows, you will swear them to secrecy.”

Jon raised one of his eyebrows, indecisiveness clear on his expression. After a few seconds of silence, he finally nodded. “I promise I will not reveal the truth to anyone else, and that I will swear to secrecy anyone who knows it.”

The queen exhaled a low satisfied sigh, and nodded. _Finally_ , she thought. Yes, she had to compromise on allowing him to leave for Greywater Watch, but she had also gained more time to prepare for the reveal. She was glad Jon had finally accepted to wait and seemed committed to maintain the secrecy over his birth, yet she could not help but being worried Howland Reed had shared that information with someone else. Hopefully they’d be able to put the matter to rest soon, once and for all.

She looked at Jon, and noticed a hint of a smile on his lips. He looked happy - perhaps it was the thought of learning about his mother. She knew it had always been a sore point for him to not know anything about the woman; it was part of the reason why she couldn’t refuse him that chance. “What is that you would like to ask about Lyanna?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know much about her. Father always said Lyanna was beautiful and willfull, that she could ride like a man and wished to fight like Mormont girls. Much like my sister Arya - he actually compared the two of them in more than one occasion. Still, I’m hoping Lord Reed can tell me something more. I remember uncle Benjen mentioning he first met him at the tourney of Harrenhal, perhaps he also met my mother.”

“Was he?” asked Daenerys, curiously. “Well then, he might be able to share something about her. It seems your mother was a formidable woman… it’s a pity you haven’t been able to meet Barristan Selmy. He had some fascinating stories about your father; surely you would have been interesting in hearing them and learning about him.”

“I already know my father.”

 _He doesn’t mean my brother_ , she realised immediately. “I imagine you’re not talking about Rhaegar.”

For a moment Jon looked puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand why she had mentioned him. “No, of course not” he clarified, shaking his head lightly. “When I speak of my father I mean Eddard Stark. He raised me, protected me, put a roof over my head and gave me a family; he will always be my father” he confessed in a soft voice. Daenerys felt a surge of envy, wondering how it felt to have grow up being loved by someone who was honorable and just.

Jon didn’t seem to catch on her internal turmoil, as he continued talking. “And, if I have to be honest, I don’t have too much interest in Rhaegar. I know he was your brother, and I’m happy he was not the rapist some said. At the same time I cannot think of him as a good man. Not after he abandoned his wife and children, leaving them in the hands of the Mad King to fight a war for another woman. Even though that woman was my mother… it was not right.”

_That’s true. He was wed to Elia Martell, yet obtained an annulment to marry Lyanna Stark. And while she was nothing more than a child, my brother was a grown man - he should have known better than that._

“Their fate troubles you” she observed in a low tone. Jon nodded, his eyes burning with righteous fury.

“Of course it does. How could it not? Rhaenys was stabbed so many times that her body could not be even recognised, and my half-brother was nothing but a babe when his skull was dashed against a wall. Before being killed, Elia Martell was raped by the same man who had just massacred her son. What kind of father allows his own children to be murdered while he fights for another woman? What kind of husband leaves his wife unprotected?”

For the first time Daenerys was able to understand the internal struggle within Jon. Oh, she could comprehend him more than he knew, for she too had to come to pacts with a father who had done horrible things.

“I wish I had an answer for you, Jon. See Barristan often spoke of Rhaegar as a kind and generous man. But no one can deny that some of the things he did were below him.”

“Below him? Brave and noble Rhaegar. That’s how they called him, right? Yet he couldn’t even find a new name for his son” he concluded in a bitter voice, clenching his jaws. “Aegon. As if I could be a replacement for my brother. As if nothing had happened.”

“Oh, Jon” she sighed, raising from her seat. He did the same, almost automatically, and she moved around the desk to close the distance between them. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt like this.”

She raised a hand to caress his face, and did not miss the way he diverted his eyes. “I realise I put a terrible pressure on you” she admitted with a regretful voice. “And I apologised for that. I never thought about how difficult it would be for you to find out you’re a Targaryen.”

“I know you take pride in your House name” he whispered. “I wish it could be the same for me. But… I take no pride over my parentage.”

Daenerys gave him a consolatory look, then she leaned towards him, brushing her lips against his. For a moment everything fell into the right place; Jon was still hers and she was his, and they would soon crush their enemies and…

“I’m sorry. I... I can’t.”

Jon took a step back to separate from her, his gaze running away from hers. Daenerys exhaled a shaky breath, trying to not show how much that gesture had hurt her. A flash of loathing in his expression was more than enough for the queen to understand the nature of the problem.

“You’re disgusted by me.”

No matter her calm tone, Jon winced as if she had hit him, and immediately shook his head vehemently. “Not by you. Never by you” he assured, his voice strong with unwavering conviction. “I love you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re my kin…”

“Targaryens have married each other for centuries” she said in a soft voice, unable to keep it from trembling. She tried to ignore the flicker of hesitance in his eyes. “I know it must feel strange, but this is a tradition as old as Valyria itself. And you just said you have no wish to style yourself as a Targaryen; you’re a Stark.”

“I don’t want to be a Targaryen. But it doesn’t change the fact I am in part one” replied Jon, with a gesture of denial. “Even now that it’s only the two of us, I cannot forget we are related. And incest… is not something welcomed in the North. Not something I can engage in.”

Daenerys’ mind immediately went back to the conversation she had had with Sansa in the crypts. She remember the story of Jonnel One-Eye, who had married his own niece and had been cursed by the Old Gods. _It’s true. Incest is an abomination in the North,_ she recalled with a deep sense of discouragement. Of course Jon would we uneasy about their relationship… perhaps even disgusted and ashamed.

“What… what are you saying, Jon? What is that you want?”

He hesitated again - one second too long, and she immediately understood. _He wants us to stop._

“I don’t know what I want, Dany” he said at last. “Perhaps I need time. Just some goddamn time to understand who I am. Before before dying, I knew who I was. The bastard of Ned Stark. A Black Brother. The Commander of the Night Watch. And then…” he made a fake smile full of bitterness and resentment, scoffing. “Then I became the King in the North. And now I’m supposed to be Aegon Targaryen.”

He raised his eyes, meeting hers. “And this Aegon is your nephew, while Jon Snow is your lover. I’m supposed to be both… yet sometimes I feel like I’m neither of them” he continued, with a defeated tone. “I don’t know, Daenerys. Maybe I need time, maybe I need to just leave. Maybe I need to speak with Howland Reed and find out who I really am.”

For a moment she thought about dismissing his concerns, telling him it would get better, and that there was no need to worry. That he would learn to be Aegon, that she needed him, and…

And then she remembered the promise she had make just shortly before. Her oath to be better. To be different from her father, a man who surely had not cared about the desires of the people that were close to him.

“If time is what you need, then I can give it to you.”

She couldn’t say who was more surprised of her words - whether him or her. Jon stared at her, astonishment pictured in his dark eyes. “You would?”

 _I don’t want to,_ screamed a voice in Daenerys’ mind. No, she didn’t want to, and everything inside herself was begging to take back those words, but she couldn’t.

“Yes” came her broken reply. Jon kept silent, still looking at her with blatant surprise in his expression.

“I don’t want to” she added, her voice low and shaky. “Gods know I don’t want to, Jon. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone after Drogo died. But I made an oath to be different from my ancestors… to be better than them. I will not chain you to our relationship, and if you need time to process everything, then I will grant you that.”

For what it seemed the longest minute of her life, Jon remained quiet, looking completely lost in his thoughts. She hoped with all her strength he would refuse her offer - but alas, it was an empty hope.

“I cannot tell you how much that means to me” he replied at last, softly. “I don’t want to lose you, Daenerys. I love you too. But I need some time to… to adjust to everything. It’s not a goodbye. Just…”

He interrupted himself, clearly struggling with words, and Daenerys felt the lump in her throat becoming bigger and bigger every second. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, and it was only with a inhuman effort she managed to keep herself from crying on the spot. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist for much longer, and resolved to leave before she could shatter in front of him.

“There are still some things I need to discuss with you” said Daenerys, hating the way her voice wouldn’t stop from breaking. “Perhaps it would be better to speak again tomorrow. I fear we wouldn’t be able to see things clearly right now.”

Jon nodded, passing a hand against his own face. “Aye. Let’s… let’s speak tomorrow.”

 

_______________________

 

Sansa tapped her fingers against the oak table, shooting a impatient glance towards Jon. Her brother gave her a shrug, looking entirely displeased with their current predicament, while Arya released the umpteen groan of annoyance. Sansa knew Jon well enough to notice the distress in his eyes, and had no doubt his chat with Daenerys had not gone well. Normally she would have simply asked him, yet Arya’s presence had refrained her from making any question, for she wasn’t sure he’d be honest in front of their younger sister. She resorted to corner him later - hopefully they wouldn’t have to wait much longer to find out the reason they had all been summoned there.

A servant had come to look for her shortly earlier, explaining Bran had requested her presence, and once she had reacher the solar she had found Arya and Jon already there. They had been waiting for their younger brother for the past minutes, yet there was no sign of him.

 _Hopefully there isn’t some new catastrophe pending upon us,_ thought Sansa drily. _If I get one more setback I might start losing it._

“Thank you for coming” said suddenly a voice at the entrance. Bran’s arrival was saluted with a relieved sigh from all his siblings, and Sansa was barely able to keep a sarcastic remark to herself.

Arya, of course, didn’t do the same. “You took your sweet time” mumbled the girl, glaring at her brother. “Perhaps the next time you summon us you could meet us a bit faster?”

He compltely ignored her, allowing a servant to place his chair at the end of the table. The man soon left, closing the doors of the solar behind him, and only then Bran spoke again. “Tomorrow we will receive a raven from Robett Glover.”

Sansa leaned in, interested. “Really? Will he accept to be tried?”

Bran nodded. “Yes, but he won’t be here before the army leaves. Sansa, once you receive the letter, you will go see Jon in his solar. Daenerys will be there too.”

There was a short pause, and Bran tilted his head to stare directly at her. “You’ll need to convince her to stay in Winterfell for the trial.”

A sense of outrage immediately spiked within Sansa. She needed to do what?

“Are you mad?”

“Do you understand what…”

Both Sansa and Arya had spoken at the same time, and the lady of Winterfell felt a surge of affection for her younger sister. Arya’s having her back was something she still needed to get used to, for it kept surprising her over and over.

“Did you see anything in your visions?” asked Jon, raising a hand to silence his sisters. Both Arya and Sansa glared at him, yet they waited for their brother to continue.

“I did. And it wasn’t just a glance” explained Bran with a short nod. “What I saw was way more accurate than the visions I am used to, but not enough to be understand it completely. What I am sure of is that Daenerys has to stay in Winterfell as long as possible. If she travels with Jon the outcome could be...”

He left his phrase unfinished, and Arya leaned towards him, frowning. “Could be what?” she asked, receiving a look from Bran that was almost annoyed.

“Catastrophic” he replied succinctly.

Jon gave a long sigh, scratching his head with a tired expression. “What exactly could happen?”

Bran raised his shoulders in a short shrug. “Telling you would make no difference. The future is not set in stone; some of the things I saw might belong to a time we will never see to pass” he said. “Daenerys is destined to greatness. Yet not even my third eye can show me whether she will bring a great devastation or a bright future for Westeros.”

Bran’s statement was followed by a long silence, and Sansa pondered on his words. She was not surprised to learn about the potential destruction Daenerys could bring; after all, she came from a long line of rulers with a history of being unstable, and had two dragons at her disposal. No, what was truly surprising for her was discovering the queen could also shape a better future for the Seven Kingdoms. She had never thought of Daenerys in those terms.

_Still... she might be a new Aerys the Mad or Jahaerys I reborn, depending from her side of the coin. Can we really afford to hope she will take the right choice?_

“That’s not particularly comforting, Bran” mumbled Sansa, unable to hold back a hint of trembling sarcasm from her voice. “And I don’t understand what could change if she stays here.”

Her brother sighed. “It could change everything. The path we’re walking is connected to the future of the entire Westeros. Some of the choices we will make… and yours in particular, Sansa… might shape a completely different outcome” he replied, looking straight at her with his piercing gaze. “If we fail, hundreds of thousands, if not more, will suffer. Perhaps we still won’t be successful, but aren’t we bound to at least try?”

 _We are and we will,_ reflected Sansa. We’re Starks. _We always do our duty. Yet he didn’t really reply to my question, didn’t he?_

“I know you don’t understand” added Bran, causing a dry scoff from Arya. “And I wish I could say more. You need to trust me on this.”

“We do, Bran” replied Jon, shooting to his younger sister a look of disapproval. “Of course we trust you, yet you must understand our reservations. As much as I believe in Daenerys, I don’t like the idea of leaving her in Winterfell with Sansa. There is too much that could wrong, especially once I leave…”

“I’m the Three Eyed Raven, Jon” interrupted Bran, his voice holding a note of impatience. “I know everything you were doing. I’m aware of Sansa’s plans and I saw how Arya tried to leave for King’s Landing, and how much she wishes to take revenge on Cersei. I know about the doubts that are tearing you apart. And I’m telling you none of those things matter.”

Bran seemed steadily convinced of what he was saying, and the other three Starks looked at each other, without knowing what they were supposed to do.

“Can I at least know what I need to do to ensure she doesn’t unleash whatever catastrophe you saw in your visions?” asked Sansa, clenching her teeth in a gesture of frustration.

“When the time is right… you’ll know what you need to do.”

“That’s it? The destiny of thousands will rest on your assurance that I will know what I need to do?” she said, finally snapping at him. Again, Bran raised his shoulders, his face mellowing into the usual uninterested expression.

 _Never a straight answer_ , thought Sansa exasperated. Her eyes crossed Jon’s, and it took only a moment to understand he would support whatever decision she made. She appreciated the fact her brother was willing to let her make the final call on the matter, yet at the same time a part of her wished she didn’t have to.

In a way, it was the perfect resolution for her predicament. With more time available, she could gain the trust of the queen, and start enhancing her plan to convince her to allow the North its independence. She could work on growing the seed of doubt she had planted and shake Daenerys’ trust in her councillors, establishing herself as someone she could confide in, befriending her. She could show her the North, explain how different they were from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, and what little she would gain from ruling them.

Of course… it also meant she would be alone with her, without Jon or Arya to help. Brienne would be there, of course, but would her trusted knight be enough to handle the queen? Could Sansa be brave enough to play someone who had two dragons and who was more than capable to scorch the entire Winterfell within minutes?

 _It all comes to that,_ she mused. _Am I willing to bet on me? Do I trust my capabilities to be enough for this game?_

She knew the answer already. Yes, she was willing to risk it. She had swore she would not be a pawn anymore - that she would take her destiny in her own hands and shape it as she’d seem fit. It seemed the Gods had an unusual sense of humour, for them to provide that kind of chance to her; which meant she had to seize it, and show the world she could handle Daenerys Targaryen.

“Well then” said Sansa after a long silence. “Jon, I hope you’re ready for the best performance of your life.”

There were both pride and a sort of sadness in Jon’s eyes, and her brother immediately gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m more apt at acting than you would think” he replied. “It won’t be easy, but we can take advantage of their ignorance of our ways. Neither Daenerys nor her people know the northeners. We can use that.”

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his gaze.“Also… since we’re already all together, I’d like to inform you Daenerys and I are no longer in a relationship.”

Sansa stared at him, wondering for a moment why the Gods kept testing her, and exhaled a long breath. “Jon…”

“You were the one who said I should speak with her” interrupter Jon, defending himself. “I did, and… we’re taking some time apart. Maybe it will be better for everyone if we’re separated.”

“Somehow, I have no doubt about that.”

Quite expectedly, the caustic comment had not come from Sansa, but from Arya, who was staring at her brother with a sardonic expression. Jon shot her an exasperated look, and for a moment she looked like she would stick her tongue at him.

“Behave, Arya” muttered Sansa, fighting the headache that was already forming.“Jon, we’ll discuss that later. Bran, I imagine… oh, he’s warging again.”

 _Well,_ she decided, _I am definitely the only one sane in this family._

“So…” said Arya, looking at Jon with a terrifying happy grin. “Does that mean we’ll leave soon? I can’t wait. Do you think we’ll find some other Frey around?”

 

————————————-

 

If anyone asked her, Daenerys would have probably admitted she felt like shit.

The night before she had copiously cried, of course, allowing herself to break down under Missandei’s sad eyes. Despite Jon’s words, she had a feeling their relationship would never resume. She had grieved the loss of the only man she had truly fell with after Drogo, and was being torned apart by the doubt she would never found love again.

Of course, a part of her was trying to elaborate what happened with a practical attitude. Jon was the only Targaryen capable of producing a offspring, and she knew the lords of Westeros wouldn’t accept some bastard born out of wedlock as her successor. No, her nephew would need to produce a legitimate heir, and by then she knew him well enough to be sure he would never accept to be married to her and to another woman, nor he would simply lay with some whore to make her pregnant. No matter what the Targaryen’s traditions were, Jon had the moral compass of a Stark; he wouldn’t marry two women, and she had no doubt he would not stray from the wife she would choose for him. Perhaps it was something that would have still happened sooner or later. Perhaps their relationship was doomed from the very beginning.

However, the less rational side of Daenerys was hurting enough to wish she could just ride Drogon and go as far from Winterfell as she could; to leave the Seven Kingdoms and never look back. Perhaps if she put an entire continent between herself and Jon Snow the pain would ease… no matter how unlikely it seemed in that moment.

Still, she was proud enough to refuse to let herself cry to death over Jon Snow - which was the reason why, even though it was terribly early and she probably looked like she could have used a day of sleep, she had decided to avoid wasting any time and was currently walking towards his solar. The sooner she could discuss any outstanding matter she had with him the better; after all, Winterfell was big enough to allow her to avoid him until he left without looking like she was actively trying to do that.

In addition, it would show him she was not losing herself in despair. She was not going to behave like some sort of foolish damsel from the songs. She was Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, and she would not allow something trivial like a broken heart to stop her.

She still hoped it would soon stop hurting so much.

Daenerys had been so lost in her musing she had not noticed she had reached her destination. The two guards standing outside Jon’s solar bowed, and one of them opened the door of the room. She thanked them with a quick gesture of the head before entering.

Jon was already there, sitting at his desk with a pile of parchments laying in front of him. The shadows under his eyes were a blatant sign of how tired he was, and Daenerys felt a surge of very human glee at the thought he looked just as miserable as she felt.

“Hello, Jon.”

He raised his gaze towards her with a surprised expression, and stood to salute her. “Your Grace.”

She gave him a quick smile she hoped looked more confident than she felt, and sat down in front of him without waiting for an invitation. “Why do you look so surprised? I told you we would speak again today.”

“Aye, but I wasn’t expecting you this early” he muttered, releasing a long sigh.

“A queen knows no rest” replied Daenerys. “And neither should her lords.”

Her nephew scratched his beard, yet she spotted a soft smile opening on his face. “This particular lord could have used a bit more sleep. Did you break your fast already?”

“Not yet” she said, shaking her head. For a moment she thought about telling him she wasn’t hungry, but an immediate rumble in her stomach betrayed her before she could even utter a word. “Perhaps we could ask for something to be brought here?”

Jon laughed gently, and nodded. “Let us eat together then.”

 

_______________________________________

 

A half hour later, Daenerys felt considerably better. A servant had brought them freshly made bread, honey, slices of smoked ham and a wedge of goat cheese, along with a pot of herbal tea, and she had devoured everything in a quite unladylike manner. Judging by the way Jon had literally wolfed down his meal, he must have been quite hungry too.

“I once heard lord Manderly say one should never discuss important matters with an empty stomach, for a full belly helps the mind” sighed her nephew, laying with his back against the chair with a satisfied expression. “I remember lord Umber telling him his mind was surely the brightest one around.”

Daenerys chuckled softly. “Well, I definitely feel better. The goat cheese was delicious… you must ship some to King’s Landing once I take the throne. I don’t think I’d be able to live without it.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it” replied Jon. “And I shall do my best to ensure you’re provided with cheese once you’re crowned. The hill clans are very proud of it, but I’m sure we’ll be able to cut a deal.”

“Thank you, Jon” she said, pushing away the cup she had used for her tea. “Now, all this talk about food reminds me I wished to discuss my dragons. They need to hunt before they grow restless; I’d like to fly them somewhere close by, possibly in a place where I could find some deers or bears.”

There was a short moment of silence where Jon frowned, “Unfortunately it’s going to be more problematic than I could hope” replied her nephew. “Our hunters have not been able to spot anything bigger than a hare after the battle. All game near Winterfell seem to have fled, and you definitely won’t find any deers nor bears around… which means you’ll need to fly into the lands of one of my bannermen.”

Daenerys released a frustrated sigh. “I see why it could be a problem, but we’ll have a bigger one if Drogon and Rhaegal go hungry. I fear they might end up attacking someone if they’re not fed soon. And I know I can’t ask for more livestock for them - your steward is already doing everything he can, but Winterfell can’t provide for three armies and two dragons.”

She still remembered terribly well what had happened in Meereen, when a child had been burned alive by one of her dragons. She wouldn’t allow that to happen again, yet she truly feared Drogon and Rhaegal might lose any restraint unless they could hunt soon.

“My bannermen would surely obey if I ordered them to let the dragons roam freely, but they will still perceive it as a slight” said Jon, frowning. “I’m not too worried about that, but you’ll be without an escort, and I’d rather avoid any danger for you. However… there are some forests and hills close to the Dreadfort, east of Winterfell. It would take just a half-day to fly there, perhaps a day if the winds are unfavourable, and I remember the lands being full of game.”

“And won’t the lord of the Dreadfort feel exactly like the rest of your bannermen about it?”

“Well, the Dreadfort is Sansa’s” replied Jon with a shrug. “She inherited it once the bastard of Bolton died. She never even visited the place, but it’s still hers. She’s also the least likely between my bannermen to protest; if we asked, perhaps she would allow Drogon and Rhaegal hunt there.”

Daenerys inclined her head, tapping her fingers against the armchair. “Do you think it would be a problem for her?” she asked, her voice holding some undecidedness. “I know she is not exactly enthusiastic about the presence of my dragons. I can’t imagine her accepting to let them roam in her lands.”

“She won’t be happy, probably” conceded Jon. “But she will respect my orders.”

Daenerys had to stifle a snicker. Her nephew seemed terribly sure the lady of Winterfell would obey him - yet she couldn’t see Sansa giving up that easily. _Well,_ she thought, _he can fight his own battles._

“I’ll leave this into your hands then. But please, let me know as soon as possible, so I can guide them in a hunt before you depart from Winterfell.”

He nodded, then inclined his head and gave her a concerned look. “Daenerys, listen…”

“No” she said, raising a hand as if she were to physically stop him. “We will not talk about that. I’m not ready, and neither are you.”

She couldn’t avoid a pleading note in her voice, and she hated herself for showing that weakness in front of Jon; yet it was her nephew who lowered his head, with a expression tainted with shame. “Fine. Just… I’m here if you need me. Not in the way you would like, but…”

“Jon, I received…”

The voice that had interrupted them was Sansa’s, and Daenerys had never been happier to see her. The lady of Winterfell came barging into Jon’s solar, unannounced, and stopped immediately as soon as she saw her. She bowed her head slightly, giving them a contrite look. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I thought my brother was alone.”

The queen smiled, immensely relieved by the interruption. “It’s fine, Lady Sansa. I was just about to leave… unless you have some news for us” she added, staring curiously at the parchment Sansa was carrying.

The lady of Winterfell threw a look at Jon, almost as if she were asking his permission for something, and Daenerys did not miss the way he barely nodded. “We received a raven from Deepwood Motte” explained her, leaving the letter on Jon’s desk. “Lord Glover confirmed he will soon travel to Winterfell for his trial.”

Jon scoffed, and Daenerys saw his eyes turning cold. “I’m surprised. I thought I’d need to root him out of his keep before he showed his treacherous face here.”

 _Lord Glover… of course, the one who refused the call to Winterfell,_ she realised immediately. Jon had been furious over his treason, and she remembered him swearing he would hang the lord of Deepwood Motte after their victory. Apparently he would get his chance to.

“I’m quite surprised too” admitted Sansa. “I already sent ravens to his vassals summoning them to Winterfell, and with your permission I will also inform lord Manderly. I doubt he will participate to the trial, but it would be better if he heard from us that his brother-in-law will be under trial. Maester Wolkan will contact the rest of the bannermen, but unless you have a different wish I believe there is no need to ask them to travel here.”

Jon gave her a nod. “Good idea. Only a few of them are travelling with me to Riverrun anyway; there is no need to summon everyone to Winterfell when they have just went back home” he replied. “There’s only one… problem.”

 _Well, this is going to be funny,_ thought Daenerys with a hint of amused vengeance. She had a feeling Sansa was not going to be pleased about the news Jon was on the verge of sharing with her. She settled back in her chair, ready to enjoy the exchange between the two siblings.

“Daenerys and I agreed to have a vanguard precede our army in order to ensure the roads are safe to travel, and I’m going to command them. I was thinking of leaving in a few days… which means you’ll have to lead Glover’s trial, Sansa.”

The expression on the face of the lady of Winterfell was beyond displeased. For a moment she managed to look exasperated, angry and outraged, all at the same time. “Jon, you must be jesting” she said, receiving a gesture of denial from him. “You know I can’t.”

Daenerys tilted her head, staring curiously at Sansa. She never thought she would hear her willingly admit there was something she couldn’t do - especially not in front of her.

“It’s true I am going to be your regent while you’re in the South, yet I am only the lady of Winterfell. Glover is the Lord of Deepwood Motte; technically his status is higher than mine. He might barely accept to be tried by you, since you gave up your crown, but the legitimacy…”

“You’re also the lady of the Dreadfort, same rank as him, and my heir. As the Stark in Winterfell, that’s going to be one of your duties” interrupted Jon. “Who else but you will rule the North in my stead? He won’t have any ground to refuse you.”

There was a brief flinch in Sansa’s expression when Jon mentioned the Dreadfort, and for a moment she didn’t say anything, perhaps in a attempt to ground herself. “Well, you never officially confirmed my ladyship, to be fair. And even if Glover accepts to be tried by me - and there is no guarantee of that - any sentence I pronounce could be challenged either by him or one of his vassals” she responded after a few seconds, looking at her sibling with something akin to exasperation in her eyes. “I can’t hold him here until you come back. Can’t you just leave after we have sorted this matter?”

The Warden of the North shook his head. “I can’t, Sansa. I have to go; it’s crucial we ensure our army can travel to Riverrun without being delayed on the kingsroad” he said, then gave her a warm look. “I understand how you feel, but I trust your skills. You have already proven you can handle our Lords. I am sure you’ll find a way to deal with Glover.”

Sansa huffed again, looking dangerously close to losing her patience. “Well… if you really can’t wait, perhaps Her Grace could delay her departure from Winterfell and join me in the trial.”

Daenerys widened her eyes, looking at the lady of Winterfell with an astonished expression. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, unsure whether she had heard her correctly.

Sansa sighed, shooting her brother another glare, before addressing her. “As I said, it’s highly likely lord Glover will dispute the legitimacy of a trial led by me. However… if he were to be judged by our queen, even though a foreigner, along with the daughter of Eddard Stark, he would have no choice but submit to our decision.”

While the fact she had swallowed her pride enough to ask for help made Daenerys happy, the mention of her being an outsider did not. “My lady, I am not a foreigner. I might have grown up in Essos, but I was born in Dragonstone, and…”

“Sansa meant you’re not from the North” interrupted Jon, with a conciliatory voice. “I told of of the way of the northeners. Being born in Dragonstone, they consider you a southron.”

Daenerys emitted a low sound of agreement, still quite crossed. The lady of Winterfell gave her an apologetic look, bowing her head slightly. “My apologies, Your Grace. I meant no offence. As Jon said, it’s simply a matter of you not being a northener. Even if you had been born a few miles south the Neck, our people would still call you a foreigner.”

“Apologies accepted” she muttered, slightly mollified. “Yet I am not sure of what my presence could achieve. If Bran attended, wouldn’t that be enough?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, unfortunately, and it might even make things worse. Wargs are feared and hunted by the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Our bannermen know of Bran’s… abilities, and while they might have turned a blind eye during the war, they won’t do that forever. My brother can’t participate to the trial, lest we put him in danger.”

“Aye, that’s true. It’s better if Bran stays far away from the lords, at least for the moment. And, as crazy as it sounds, having you leading the trial would make sense” admitted Jon, looking at her. “If Robett was to be judged by the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the regent of the North I am sure no one would challenge your sentence. And it might be a good opportunity for you to meet again some of the lords; everyone knows you are the main reason why Winterfell didn’t fall to the White Walkers, and I’m sure they would be willing to get to know you this time.”

Daenerys didn’t say anything, her mind pondering Sansa’s suggestion. A part of her was flattered and satisfied the lady of Winterfell had finally acknowledged her role as queen. The fact she was willing to refer to her judgement for such an important trial was certainly pleasing, and seemed a great opportunity to cement her hold on the North. Without Jon to cater all the attention of the lord, she would be able to speak with them and asses their reaction to her. She’d also have the chance to spend more time with Sansa and try swaying the girl to her side, just as she had hoped to do.

And yet a part of her - the one suspicious to the point of being paranoid, and that reminded her constantly how much of a menace Jon was for her - was whispering in her ears of threats and treacheries. Surely the lady of Winterfell must have had some hidden motive for that request - perhaps it was a plan to harm her, or maybe…

_Enough of this, I am the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. How will I be able to rule if I fear treason from each and everyone of my own subjects? What kind of queen would be intimidated by an invitation in Winterfell? My ancestor Alysanne was younger than me when she travelled alone to meet Alaric Stark, and no matter our disagreements, the Starks have been nothing but gracious hosts. I cannot let myself be scared by some what-ifs._

“It seems the idea has a certain merit” she conceded at last, receiving a tentative half smile from Sansa.

“Lord Glover wrote he would leave Deepwood Motte in some days, and I expect him to need at least a fortnight to reach Winterfell, if he doesn’t encounter any trouble on the road. I believe the trial should be swift enough, yet I fear by the time everything will be over your army might be already well on its way to Riverrun” replied the younger Stark, her voice cautious. “I would really appreciate if you could stay, but I also wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Your Grace.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be terribly inconvenienced, to be honest. I won’t need to ride a horse to Riverrun, and my dragons are faster than any army” responded Daenerys, waving a hand as if she were dismissing the concern. “I assume there won’t be any need for Drogon and Rhaegal before we have to face Cersei - I have no wish to deploy them in the Riverlands. My commanders can lead the Unsullied and Dothraki until my return, and I am sure it would be a great chance for me to learn more about the ways of the North and my subjects.”

“Then it’s settled” stated Jon, a satisfied smile opening on his face. “Thank you, Your Grace. I really appreciate what you’re doing. Sansa, i know we said it wasn’t necessary, but perhaps you could encourage lord Manderly to travel back to Winterfell… or at least send one of his granddaughters. He is our most powerful bannerman, it would be important for the queen to meet him.”

The lady of Winterfell gave a nod, running her hands over her dress to fix some invisible crinkles. “I will. I’m sure Her Grace would love to meet him or his granddaughter Wylla, she’s quite the character” she concluded, with a unusually amused smile.

“I will inform my advisors then” replied Daenerys, internally cringing at the thought of facing the complaints she would surely receive from Varys. “However, I do have a question. What do you intend to do with lord Glover?” she asked, giving a curious look to the two.

It took just a moment for Sansa’s eyes to darken. “Robett Glover betrayed us twice already” she said, her voice low and cool. “First he refused to lend us aid against Ramsey Snow, betraying his oath to House Stark. After we defeated the Boltons, he pledged himself and his forces to Jon, yet did not assist us in the battle of Winterfell, even though his own bannermen answered our call. He will not receive a third chance.”

“I was too lenient with him” agreed Jon with a angry sigh. “Our father wouldn’t have forgiven his first betrayal. The sentence will be fair… but harsh.”

The two Starks went quiet at that, and Daenerys didn’t further pursue the matter. She certainly didn’t need Tyrion’s brain to understand the meaning of his words.

“In any case, lady Sansa, I hope you will find some time to instruct me about your ways; I have no wish to give to your bannermen the impression I am not taking this responsibility seriously.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Once Jon and the vanguard leave Winterfell, I will gladly organise some lessons with Maester Wolkan, and I will also be available to share my experience with trials, as limited as it is.”

 _Not so limited,_ thought Daenerys with some amusement. _Petyr Baelish could testify that, if he was still alive._

Judging by Jon’s sour expression he probably had the same thought, and Daenerys almost made a comment on that regard. A part of her would have loved to know more than the chattering from servants Varys had managed to catch. Still, there was a time and a place for everything, and that was not there.

However, there was a last matter she could sort out before leaving. Surely Sansa would not refuse her, not after she accepted to help her - and since she was already there, she resumed to ask directly, rather than waiting for Jon to do it on her behalf.

“There is also something I wished to ask you, lady Sansa” she explained. “My dragons need to hunt, for I fear they’re growing restless while we wait for our army to recover. I was hoping you allow me to fly them to the forest close to the Dreadfort before his departure.”

It took only a few seconds of reflection for Sansa to nod. “Of course, Your Grace. The Bol… my lands, pardon me, were mostly untouched both by the civil war and the Night King’s army. Hopefully the hunt will be satisfying both for you and your dragons.”

Daenerys tried her best to keep her face from showing any hint of surprise. Now, she had hoped her gesture of goodwill would be enough for the lady of Winterfell to accept without too much hassle, however she had not expected such a easy resolution.

“If only the rest of my council were so cooperative as the two of you” she joked weakly, drawing a chuckle from both of them. “That would certainly make my life easier.”

The lady of Winterfell gave a half shrug. “I am pretty sure even your council would have had easy life with this decision. Even though I do remember father becoming terribly frustrated whenever he had to deal with Varys.”

Jon laughed briefly. “Father had no patience for that kind of shit, didn’t he? Still, if I were you, Your Grace, I’d take advantage of my sister’s knowledge while you enjoy your staying in Winterfell” he replied, giving a warm look at his sibling. “After all, Arya says she’s the smartest person she knows, and that’s high praise from her.”

“Oh, stop, Jon. And mind your language” mumbled Sansa, and Daenerys could see a hint of redness on her cheeks. “Don’t exaggerate, especially not in front of the queen. You don’t have to be smart to agree that it’s the best course of action. No offense, Your Grace, but your dragons eat provisions that could feed a hundred people, even with the way you’ve tried to limit them.”

“None taken” reassured Daenerys. “I understand your plea, especially with the current shortage. However, I am quite surprised by your cooperation. Pleased and grateful, of course, but still a bit surprised” she concluded, giving a curt smile to the lady of Winterfell.

“I guess we both have to compromise to ensure this alliance keeps standing, don’t we?” replied Sansa in a soft voice. “After all, I gave you my word.”

 _That you did, my lady,_ reflected Daenerys. _Still, it’s pleasing to see your words were not only wind._

“Well, Jon, now I only need to know when you intend to leave” continued Sansa. “Arya will want to come with you. Have you already decided how many men will be part of the vanguard? Since you’ll travel on the kingsroad, will you rest at Moat Cailin? When and where will you rejoin the army? Have you already thought about how many carpenters will travel with you?”

Sansa’s questions were responded with a low desperate groan from Jon. Daenerys crossed his gaze, amused by his behaviour, and received a smile that betrayed his real feelings.

It was only then she realised she had not thought even once about her broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, gotta say I have no excuses! This chapter took much longer than I planned - unfortunately my holidays in Italy, as amazing as they were, left me little time to write. Once I got back my English was horrible, so I had to work on it before I could write again.
> 
> Still, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Jon and Dany broke up, wohoo! I hope it was as realistic as possible - I had no intention to drag on their relationship, particularly when I found them so incompatible. But writing their conversation was a nightmare.
> 
> Just because I want to make this clear - Sansa and Jon are perfectly aware Sansa has every right to lead the trial alone. But Dany doesn’t know their ways or their traditions; she might even see them a bit as rough and uncivilized. And she always enjoys put some men in their place. S&J exploited this weakness, and flatter her into thinking she’s needed. She’s not, but she doesn’t have to know that right now, doesn’t she? ;) 
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who is leaving comments/kudos/just reading! See you next chapter, it won't take again this long.
> 
> _Chapter IV Preview_
> 
> _“I wouldn’t mind your company, my lady. Unless of course you have other duties to attend to.”_
> 
> _“Winterfell should be able to survive until my return. If Arya doesn’t cause any trouble, obviously."_


	5. Chapter V - The Godswood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has listened for long enough. Now it is her time to speak.
> 
>  
> 
> All rights to Game of Thrones and A Song of Fire and Ice go to their respective owners.
> 
> TW: May mention past abuse and rape (not graphical).

The talk between Sansa, Daenerys and Jon continued for way longer than any of them had expected, dragging until after midday. They discussed in deep who would be part of the vanguard, the provisions they would need, and how they would position the plan to their personal advisors. She had been glad to see the two siblings being so cooperative.

Once again, Daenerys had been impressed by Sansa’s skills. Despite not having any military experience, the Lady of Winterfell had often interrupter her and Jon with questions about their plans, constantly providing her point of of view and showing her expertise in stewardship. More than once she had gently steered them away from decisions that would have put at risk the delicate political balance between their forces, and Daenerys had found herself almost captivated by her act, and at the same time a bit jealous of the blatant trust Jon put in her.

In the end, they had agreed Jon and Ser Davos would leave Winterfell in four days with a vanguard of 300 men, composed mostly by northeners and knights of the Vale. A good amount of workmen was going to be included, of course, as well as some Unsullied, guided by Grey Worm. They would be reunited with the main body of the army before the Twins, and then proceed together to Riverrun to free House Tully’s ancestral seat and rest one last time before the push to King’s Landing. Daenerys was expected to join them before they reached Oldstones, travelling with both her dragons.

Once all the details had been agreed on, Sansa and Daenerys had left together the room. They had started walking in silence through the halls, both seemingly lost in their thoughts.

Strangely enough, Daenerys felt less displeased than she would have expected about the latest development. Travelling to Riverrun with the rest of the army would have meant long days of complete inactivity, a time she could have surely spent better staying in Winterfell to work on her alliances - with the added advantage of being separated from Jon for more than she had initially expected.

Of course, she had the underlying feeling there was more behind Sansa’s reasoning to hold her back in Winterfell. Yet Jon had supported his sister, insisting on the necessity of her presence, and she had truly no reason to think he was lying. After all, he had been one of the few men who had been completely honest with her, even when it could have put him in danger, and despite their breakup she still trusted him - and she couldn’t say the same for Varys and Tyrion, completely.

And, in all fairness, even if the Lady of Winterfell had an alternative motive for requesting her to delay her departure, she couldn’t see any harm in granting her plea. Her dragons would stay with her, and Daenerys knew Sansa was not a fool. Whatever her reasons were, she wouldn’t try to hurt her in Winterfell, not when Drogon and Rhaegal were close enough to lay waste of the entire North, and not without Jon Snow ready to protect his people.

There was also a part of her that was curious to see what Sansa’s intentions were. She was hoping to be mistaken, and that the Lady of Winterfell had no other purpose for her presence than the one she had explained; yet, if hers was a trap, she was confident she’d be able to foil it. And if that was the case… then Sansa Stark would know the meaning of fire and blood.

Now she only needed to decide how to break the news to her council - and think of a plan to ensure she would make the most out of her time in the North.

“Your Grace, I know I already did, but I wanted to thank you again for your help with the trial” said suddenly Sansa. “It is from the age of Alysanne the Good that a Targaryen queen doesn’t hold court in Winterfell. I am sure this will be beneficial to both of us. As much as I appreciate Jon’s confidence in my capabilities, sometimes he is so focused on the big picture that he forgets the smaller details; Lord Glover is certainly not as important as Cersei, however it is an issue that would be better to deal with as soon as possible.”

“You’re welcome, my Lady. I know it can’t be easy for you having to defer to an outsider on this matter” replied Daenerys, hesitating for a moment. “And I too look forward to be be able to support you with that, and to learn more about the North, of course.”

Sansa nodded, and the two of them went quiet again. Daenerys’ thoughts circled back to her advisors and their possible reactions. She knew Tyrion and Varys were probably going to be unhappy about her decision, but hopefully her Hand would be mollified once he found out her plan to extend her influence over the North and the Vale. However, she also had a feeling the Spider would be loathe to separate from her.

Normally, if she had to choose which of her advisors keep in Winterfell with her, Missandei would be the obvious decision, however her friend seemed eager to leave the North; Grey Worm would depart with the vanguard, so the choice was limited to either Varys or Tyrion. _I definitely need to expand my council_ , she admitted with a bit of irritation.

“Is there anything bothering you, Your Grace? You look concerned.”

Daenerys raised her head, surprised at being called out by the Lady of Winterfell. For a moment she thought about denying any worries; she knew Sansa probably wouldn’t have pursued the matter. Normally she would have never let herself drop her guard in front of anyone, yet after her previous admission of weakness she felt a sort of sympathy for her.

“I’ve seen better days” she admitted, raising her shoulders in a gesture of weariness. “I’m sure you know the feeling. So many things to do, and so little time to rest.”

Sansa tilted her head, her blue eyes showing a deep kind of understanding. “I’m quite familiar with the sensation... and I know how important it is to unwind, even for a short moment. You see, I usually visit the godswood whenever I need some time for myself. Would you like to take a walk, Your Grace?”

She was taken aback by the offer, so unexpected and at the same time so welcomed. _Still, I should refuse,_ thought Daenerys sourly. She was perfectly aware of her duties in that moment - her council was still in the dark about the new plan, she had to discuss with Grey Worm who to send with the vanguard, inform him of Jon’s heritage, and…

 _Just once_ , she thought with stubborn exasperation. Just once, she couldn’t help but wish for a brief reprise, a moment for herself where she could just mourn her relationship and breathe in peace. A moment to be Daenerys Targaryen, not a ruler or a conqueror.

Yes, she should have declined. Yet, for what perhaps was the first time from the moment she had come to Winterfell, she decided to ignore what duty asked of her.

“It would be a pleasure, my Lady.”

 

____________________________

 

Sansa’s quiet place had turned out to be the center of the grove in the godswood, where an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pond. She couldn’t remember seeing the pool before, and wondered if it had been frozen and covered by snow. It was right where Bran Stark had waited for the Night King, and for a fleeting moment Daenerys felt a shiver down her back, as if the undead could raise again right there.

And yet, despite the dark recent history of the grove, it had taken her just a few minutes of deep silence to feel her worries slowly slipping away. She allowed herself to relax listening to the quiet rush of the leaves, along with the chirp of the few birds nested in the trees.

 _It is truly a beautiful place,_ she thought. _Just as the rest of the North. From the way Tyrion and Varys spoke of it I expected onlu barren lands, frozen and empty. Yet there is beauty in it, if one looks closely._

“Would you like me to leave, Your Grace?”

Sansa’s voice interrupted her musings, and Daenerys raised her gaze to meet her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind your company, Lady Sansa. Unless of course you have other duties to attend to.”

The other girl shook her head. “Winterfell should be able to survive until my return, provided that Arya doesn’t cause too much trouble” she concluded with a sarcastic scoff, yet the affectionate glint in her eyes betrayed the fondness she felt for her sister.

“The two of you seem to get along very well” observed Daenerys with a soft laugh, finally sitting on a trunk close to the pond. Sansa mimicked her, releasing a low hum of satisfaction. “I have to admit it surprised me. Jon spoke at length about all of you, and he always mentioned how you and Arya couldn’t stand each other.”

“Well, it’s a… somehow recent development. Had you met us when we were younger, you would have discovered we could hardly be in the same room without bickering” replied the Lady of Winterfell with a grimace. “Father used to say we were as different as the sun and the moon. We spent so much time fighting each other for petty matters, but we’re adults now, and winter has come. We’d be fools to keep up with those antics.”

 _Well, you were but children when you left Winterfell. Surely being separated for years helped that reconciliation,_ thought the queen. Still, she was aware something else had happened - a courtesy of the Spider, of course - and was curious to understand the role of Littlefinger in their pacification, and the part the two sisters played in his demise.

Officially she only knew that Petyr Baelish, the former Lord Protector of the Vale, had been tried for treason against the North, found guilty and swiftly executed. His name was hardly spoken aloud, and as far as she had gathered the knights of the Vale had not mourned the man; Lord Royce himself had shown to be Sansa’s staunchest supporter, a behaviour quite bizarre for someone who had lost his regent at the hands of the Starks. Varys had shared he was curious to understand how they had bested one of the most brilliant players in the game of thrones - and it seemed Daenerys might had a chance to find out.

“Well, being apart for years surely helped settling your differences” mused Daenerys. “However, I imagine that unpleasant business with Lord Baelish helped quite a bit, too.”

Sansa’s eyes flashed with overt surprise, and the queen knew she had caught her unprepared. _She didn’t think I knew,_ she realised immediately.

“Never thought I’d be able to leave you speechless, my Lady” she added after a few seconds of silence. Sansa gave her a half smile and an assessing look, and for the first time she could see a hint of caution in her blue eyes.

“Few possess this ability, Your Grace” she said, her mask firmly back in place. “I have to admit you surprised me. What happened with Petyr… with Lord Baelish, was definitely an unpleasant affair, however necessary.”

Daenerys nodded, taking a few moments to reflect. _I must be careful. If I say too much she will understand I know nothing of what happened._

“Your brother was quite worried about leaving you in Winterfell alone. He didn’t trust him.”

It wasn’t a lie. Jon had expressed his concerns over Baelish’s presence more than once when they were in Dragonstone, and had been anxious to return to Winterfell to ensure his sister was not being threatened by him. Only after he was informed of his demise he had been able to relax, and had confessed her his fears over Baelish’s blatant interest in Sansa.

“Jon is usually a good judge of character” replied the Lady of Winterfell, grimacing. “He hated him from the first moment they met, despite the fact Baelish led the knights of the Vale to Winterfell to help us against the Boltons. Of course… one good deed is not enough to redeem a lifetime of wickedness.”

 _Most definitely not,_ reflected Daenerys. _Especially if that single deed was done because of personal interest, rather than a wish to atone for past mistakes. After all, I imagine Baelish was not planning on crowning Jon._

“He was an evil man” continued quietly Sansa. “He had Lord Arryn poisoned, starting the conflict between Starks and Lannisters. He betrayed my father, manipulated my mother, murdered my aunt Lysa, sold me to the Boltons, he even tried to pit me against Jon for the crown… and if Bran had not intervened he would have made Arya and I destroy each other. And these are only the things I’m aware of, Your Grace. I can’t even imagine how many other crimes he was guilty of.”

There was a quiet rage in her voice, and at the same time a sort of resignation. Daenerys wondered how Sansa must have felt knowing the same man who had won her the battle of Winterfell was also responsible for the death of part of her family.

“Hence you responded to the injustices against of family with vengeance?”

“No” responded Sansa vehemently. “Ours was not a revenge. We gave justice to all his victims. There are many things I regret, Your Grace, but having Petyr Baelish executed is not one of them.”

Neither of them spoke again after that, and Daenerys allowed herself some time to think. While there were still many questions she would have liked to ask, she was still quite satisfied of the information she had received. There had been strong disagreements between Sansa and Arya because of Baelish’s meddling, and it seemed the former Lord Protector had influenced Westeros’ events more than she knew. _And what about Lord Arryn? Varys never mentioned Baelish had him killed._

It definitely looked like Petyr Baelish didn’t have a fair trial, despite Sansa’s words, and Daenerys filed that information for a possible usage in the future. _Nevertheless, they must have had some sort of substantial proof, otherwise Lord Royce would have been honour bound to defend his Lord regent,_ reflected Daenerys. _Unless he did it for his personal gain; after all, isn’t he the Lord Protector of the Vale now? I fear it says much about his loyalties. It won’t be easy for me to gain his trust._

 

____________________________

 

“I told you much about Winterfell and the North, Your Grace” said suddenly Sansa, turning her face to meet her gaze. “Yet I know nothing about you, nor about Essos. I’d be quite interested in learning more, if you’re willing to share.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but let on some surprise in her expression. She had been almost ready to depart from the godswood before that silence could become more uncomfortable, and yet it seemed Sansa was willing to continue the conversation. P _erhaps she believes I might let out some secret of mine since she opened up so much,_ mused the queen _. Well, I don’t wish to disappoint her._

She started speaking, and told Sansa of the port of Pentos, where fishwives would scream to sell their goods, and sailors would give you a good story for a drink. She spoke of her time with the khalasar, and of the markets of Vaes Dothrak, full of traders from each part of Essos, including places so far away that they almost felt mythical - Yi Ti, Asshai, even the Shadow Lands.

She recounted the magnificence of Qarth, with its colourful buildings, and told her of the House of the Undying and the perils she had faced there. She spoke of the way she had tricked the Good Masters of Astapor into selling her the Unsullied, and her first meeting with Missandei. She recalled with fury the view that had welcomed her on the road for Meereen, with all those poor children crucified by their masters, and told Sansa of her hate for slavery and those who practiced it.

And slowly she started speaking about herself, too. About Daenerys Targaryen - not the queen, the conqueror, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, but just the girl with a name that was too heavy to bear. She told the Lady of Winterfell of her childhood in the Free Cities, and the days she spent playing with other rascals, hiding in the gardens and running away from annoyed guards whenever they were spotted in places they weren’t allowed into.

She saw Sansa’s eyes colour with fascination when she spoke of the ocean, and how she used to swim in it. Daenerys spoke at length of the sea and her love for the warm beaches of Pentos, where every worry would fade under the sun.

She spoke of Barristan Selmy, and his bravery and honour, and of Jorah Mormont, who had loved her even when she had hated him with burning passion. She recalled the time before Viserys fell to his madness, when he was just her older brother who let her crawl in his bed and told her stories about the Seven Kingdoms and dragons and their family. She stopped before she could speak of Drogo and the child they lost, unwilling to share that part of her past. Judging by Sansa’s captivated eyes, she had probably failed to notice her hesitancy.

“Sometimes I forget there’s an entire world outside the Seven Kingdoms” commented the Lady of Winterfell with a soft hum. “It seems impossible to think that beyond the ocean there are lands with people so different from us. And the fact you travelled so far... I can’t even make sense of that.”

 _I truly went as far as I could,_ mused Daenerys. _And everything I did brought me back to the land I was born in. Now I hope I’ll never leave again. I wonder if Sansa wishes the same._

“Would you like to see what lies beyond the Narrow Sea?”

The Lady of Winterfell scrolled her shoulders. “There was a time when I wished nothing more than travel south, visit the courts of Riverrun, King’s Landing, Highgarden. After everything that happened, I’d be more than happy if I never left Winterfell again, for I’m finally back home. So, no, I have no plans to leave.”

Daenerys made a short nod. It made sense - there had been a time before becoming Khaleesi when she had only wished she could go home, wherever that place was, rather than become Drogo’s queen. The memory of a house with a red door and a lemon tree in the backyard flashed in front of her eyes, and she drove it away forcefully.

“I imagine you won’t be able to travel much once you take the Iron Throne.”

Daenerys smiled, slightly amused. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, unless it is related to my duties as ruler. I am finally home, too.”

“Are you?” asked Sansa, her expression intrigued. “I mean no offence, but you were only born in Dragonstone, and you were spirited away right after your birth. All your life you’ve been far away from the Seven Kingdoms; you were not taught the traditions, nor the history, and even your language is different from ours. How can you feel you’re home, when you grew up in Essos?”

If Sansa’s voice had held even a hint of contempt, Daenerys might have responded in kind, and yet she had perceived only a honest curiosity coming from her.

 _That… is a good question_ , she admitted. And not something she could really put into words. Perhaps it was a longing born from her brother’s tales, or maybe it was her Targaryen blood calling for her homeland. _I can only explain as best as I can._

“You make a good point, my Lady, and I wish I were able to explain it completely. Ever since I was born I travelled in more places than I can count. And yet, no matter where I was, I always felt like I didn’t truly belong there. Not in the mansions of Pentos, not in the tents of the khalasar, not even in my palace in Meereen” she explained slowly. “There was always something missing. And once I touched the sand of Dragonstone… I knew what it was. I longed for home before I even knew where it was.”

Daenerys had a feeling she had not made a lot of sense, and yet Sansa nodded, as if she understood. “May I ask something else?”

The queen made a half smile. The godswood had put her in a good mood, despite the conversation she had had the day before with Jon. “You are full of questions today, my Lady, but I shall grant you another one” she replied good-naturedly.

“Your Grace is too kind” said the Lady of Winterfell with a brief sarcastic scoff that held no real malice in it. “I do have a serious question though. No matter how much you might have longed for home, you were a queen in Meereen. You were loved, respected, feared when needed. You had everything you could wish for. Why did you choose to seek the Iron Throne then?”

Daenerys’ first instinct was to speak of her birthright, of how she had to take the throne back for her family, but she knew it would not explain her drive. It would only make her appear as a conqueror, not much different from Aegon, and she had no wish to leave that impression on Sansa Stark.

 _And after all, that is only the way my journey started,_ she thought. _I wasn’t even supposed to be the one who would rule. Viserys sold me for his crown; if he hadn’t, perhaps I would have never left Essos._

_Let us try with the truth then._

“To break the wheel.”

Sansa’s utterly perplexed look would have been amusing, had Daenerys not been so serious. Yet it only made her more willing to explain herself, for the was hoping the Lady of Winterfell might be able to understand.

“There is a wheel, Lady Sansa, crushing down everyone beneath it. Sometimes it’s a Targaryen who steers it, and sometimes it’s a Baratheon, or a Lannister; but what matters is that the people who are not strong enough to raise on the top of the wheel are crushed. It has always been that way, and it will not change, unless someone destroys it. And I am that someone.”

There was a brief silence, and Daenerys could see Sansa was pondering on her statement. She didn’t say anything, happy to leave some time to the Lady of Winterfell. She was honestly curious to see what she would think - whether she’d believe in the possibility or, like many others, she would claim it unreal.

“So you wish to dismantle the established order, don’t you?” mused Sansa, leaning slightly towards her. “It is a noble call, Your Grace, but how are you going to do it? How do you intend to break a wheel that was created by your own ancestors?”

“I reckon it will not be an easy feat. It will take years, if not decades, to change the kingdom my predecessors built” admitted Daenerys, recalling the confidence she had used a long time before, when she had first announced her intentions to Tyrion. Oh, how naive she had been. “But I mean to leave a better Westeros than the one I’m going to rule. No more little girls sold by their families for a chunk of bread; no more young men forced to abandon their homes to fight for wars they have no interest in. The games of the lords and kings will no longer cause sufferings to the common people.”

“Some will call me a visionary and a liberator, my Lady” she continued, her voice confident. “Others will say I’m just as mad as my father. You saw how I came to Winterfell to aid the North. Tell me, Lady Sansa, which one do you think I am?”

“Neither, I’d say.”

Sansa’s response surprised her, for she wasn’t truly expecting her to give a honest reply, and the queen gave her a bewildered look. “Neither?”

The Lady of Winterfell nodded slowly. “I don’t believe you’re mad, Your Grace. If you were, you would have abandoned us while you conquered the Iron Throne. You wouldn’t have sacrificed a dragon and your own men to help the North; instead you recognised the real threat, and took the burden upon yourself. I’ve known mad rulers, and I am quite confident you don’t resemble them. But I wouldn’t call you a liberator either. The Seven Kingdoms are not Pentos, and slavery has long been abolished; the chains you speak of do not exist here.”

Daenerys exhaled a long breath, tapping her fingers against the hard wood. It was true slavery had no place in Westeros, yet there were many different forms of it. The Westerosi justified themselves claiming slavery had been forbidden thousands of years before; yet their people were far from free.

“Do you truly believe every person in the Seven Kingdoms is free, my Lady? You might not call it slavery, yet few men and even less women could say they are the masters of their own destiny” she explained. “The King, or some Lord, decides on their life and death. They might send thousands of men to die just for their whim; and when the men die, the women, children and elderly are left home without any possibility of fending for themselves. Would you call this freedom, when your life might be forfeited simply because your liege wishes to wage war on their neighbour?”

“That might be, Your Grace, and yet the people of Westeros cannot be treated as property, and it is not unheard of those who raise to great honours from humble beginnings” noted Sansa, her voice soft. “And even though you claim to be different you too have an army ready to die for your conquest. What makes their deaths different?”

“They chose me, my Lady” she explained. “They are free men and women who joined my cause, decided to fight for me willingly, and would be able to leave whenever they wish so. Could you say the same for your people?”

“It is different here” admitted Sansa, though she was clearly loathe to do so.

Daenerys kept herself from smiling, glad for the small victory. “Your vassals would gather because of your family name and because they trust you, but would their people have any choice?”

“Is that what you wish to give them? A choice?”

“In a sense, yes” replied Daenerys. “You see, in a certain way I too have been a slave. How would you call someone whose freedom is sold to someone for another one’s gain?”

“A wife, usually.”

Daenerys was taken aback by Sansa’s dry response, and despite the placid expression on the face of the Lady of Winterfell, she was able to recognise the bitterness in her voice. _Well, she’s not completely wrong,_ she thought. Twice married, both times without having a choice. And at least Tyrion behaved decently; she knew Ramsay Bolton didn’t.

“That too” she conceded after a few seconds of silence. “Perhaps you more than anyone should be able to understand why I need to change this kingdom. I managed to destroy my own chains, but most people are not able to do the same. Don’t you think we have a duty to ensure our legacy includes a more just world? A better reign than the one we lived in? To protect the future generations from suffering the same horrors we had to live?”

Sansa gave her an appraising look without saying a word. _It’s time for a last push, but I can’t take it further._

“If I don’t change things… who will?” continued Daenerys, her eyes never breaking down the contact with Sansa. “When will there be another ruler with the same strength I have? With the same power and will?”

She did not have to mention her dragons, knowing both of them were more than aware of the advantage they offered her, and the threat they posed to her enemies. But she had no wish to sour the conversation, for she was truly enjoying her verbal sparring with Sansa. The Lady of Winterfell was able to challenge her without being disrespectful, and many of the points she raised would be probably made by other Lords; in a way, Daenerys felt like she was almost training for the tasks that awaited her.

 

____________________________

 

Sansa could literally feel her control over the conversation slipping away. Not only the queen was proving a much more formidable foe than she had expected, but a part of her was also agreeing with what she was saying.

She could still remember the fear and helplessness her younger self had experienced after her father’s death. What justice was there in mistreating and humiliating a child? In striking her in front of the whole court, forcing her to marry a man a man that was almost twice her age? Not to mention everything that happened after her escape from King’s Landing, from Aunt Lisa almost murdering her to the rape she had suffered because of Ramsay.

Petyr had once told her there was no justice in the world, unless she made it. And apparently Daenerys Targaryen had received the same lesson, though her ambitions were much higher than hers. Sansa didn’t care anymore for justice, not after at last her family had been avenged, and yet…

 _Enough,_ she thought irritated. _I couldn’t care less whether or not she’ll be a just ruler for the Seven Kingdoms. I wish her well, but she will not be our queen._

“How come we always end debating such heavy topics when we are together?” asked Sansa, with a smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes. “I brought you here to take your mind off all the matters that are burdening you, and instead we’re discussing politics again. My apologies, Your Grace.”

“No apologies needed, Lady Sansa” replied Daenerys. She hesitated only for a moment before continuing. “If I have to be completely honest, I enjoy our conversations. It seems you are one of the few people unafraid of challenging me… and I truly appreciate that.”

 _I do too,_ thought Sansa begrudgingly. _Probably more than I should, considering the situation and my true goal. It is almost a pity we met only now, Daenerys Targaryen._

“And I am grateful for this moment of respite. I didn’t think I could find any peace in the godswood, yet… as foreign as this place is to me, there is an unexpected peace.”

“My father used to visit this place after he had to perform an execution” explained the Lady of Winterfell, brushing her fingers against the surface of the water. “He always said he’d feel closer to our gods here.”

Daenerys nodded, staring for a few seconds at the faces carved in the weirwoods. “I was never taught the Faith nor the ways of the Old Gods, so I don’t really know how that feels. Do you share your father’s beliefs?” she asked curiously.

“In a sense, yes” replied Sansa, with an unhappy smile. “When I was younger I kept both the Old and the New Gods, for my parents had different faiths. Being a Stark it was expected of me to follow the Old Gods, but I often found them scary and inexplicable when I was a child. The Faith of the Seven was easier to comprehend, and made me feel closer to my mother and my southern roots. Now I only keep the Old Gods, and just barely.”

“How come?”

Sansa released a low sigh. “When I was in King’s Landing I kept praying and praying for my brother’s victory, for his safety, for his health. You know very well what happened to him. What good did my prayers?” she wondered, shaking slightly her head. “And then, when I was sold to the Boltons, I prayed the Old Gods would be by my side during my marriage, that they’d help me get justice. yet they were silent. What use would I have of gods that don’t listen nor care?”

“I guess that’s something we have in common” said softly Daenerys. “For all my life, the only thing that kept me going was faith in myself. Not in the gods, nor in the honour of men, or justice. Just myself.”

For a moment Sansa was on the verge of giving her a bitter reply, yet she managed to keep it for herself, unwilling to show more of her internal turmoil to the queen. She simply gave a curt nod, lowering her gaze to stare at her hands; only then she noticed she was gripping at the edge of her gown so strongly that her knuckles had whitened.

“I’m surprised he didn’t die by Jon’s hand” said suddenly Daenerys. “Ramsay, I mean.”

There was a subtle anger in the queen’s voice, and Sansa looked at her, without being completely sure of the reason of her temper. “He wanted to kill him, but he stopped before he could finish him” she replied. For a moment Ramsay's bloody face came to her mind; sometimes, when she walked in that courtyard, she could still hear the sound of Jon’s fists beating him into a pulp. “He later told me he realised he wasn’t the one who was supposed to pass the sentence.”

Daenerys nodded, as if she agreed with Jon’s decision. “That was right of him. And if what I heard was true, you did give him what he deserved.”

Sansa gave her a pale smile. “He really loved those hounds. I found it… fitting.”

“Indeed.”

The two women turned quiet again, both lost in their thoughts. Sansa allowed herself some time to relax, listening to the birds chirping peacefully on the trees of the grove. Surely she would find a moment later to reflect on her conversation with the queen - she had the feeling Daenerys had won that particular verbal sparring, unfortunately - but for now she would just enjoy the current peace.

It was Daenerys the one who interrupted the surprisingly comfortable silence a few minutes later, with a request that both surprised and unsettled Sansa.

“I would like to visit my dragons. Would you mind accompany me?”

 

____________________________

 

The walk to the dragons’ den had not been particularly long, but it had still been enough for Daenerys and Sansa to talk more, as the queen had started recalling some memories from her childhood. The Lady of Winterfell had been so lost in a particularly entertaining tale about the theatre performances in the Free Cities that she had not noticed how close they were to the shelter. It was only when she heard a sudden screech tearing the air apart that she understood where they were.

A moment later, the giant figure of the green dragon rose into the sky, and Sansa felt the immediate and very human instinct to throw herself to the ground and try to appear as small as possible - an instinct that, of course, was ignored in favour of a more lady-like pair of steps back, which fortunately Daenerys didn’t seem to notice.

“Have you ever seen them closely, my Lady?” asked the queen, looking away from her dragons. Sansa gave her a gesture of denial, shaking her head. “Would you like to?”

 _No thank you,_ thought Sansa with a sort of terror. Yet she knew she couldn’t refuse in such a blatant way, not when she was trying to befriend the queen, so she went for a more diplomatic response.

“If it pleased Your Grace, but I wouldn’t want to disturb them” she said, her tone polite yet not particularly enthusiastic. _Hopefully Daenerys will get the hint and drop the invitation…_

“It would” replied the queen with a cheerful expression, shattering any hope she had to be as far as possible from the dragons. Sansa replied with a thin grimace she hoped could pass as a smile, and the two ladies started making their way towards the huge creatures.

The black dragon noticed the presence of his mother and gave another loud screech that resonated in the air; Sansa had to fight the urge of turning back and start running towards Winterfell. _It’s not like I could outrun it_ , she established, already resigned to her fate.

She knew Daenerys wouldn’t allow the beasts to devour her - probably - and at the same time she felt as defenceless as she was in King’s Landing. If the dragons decided to attack her, there would be nothing she could do to save herself, nor anyone who could help her. _At least it would be over soon,_ she thought miserably, while she followed the queen so as to approach the beasts.

 

____________________________

 

Against all her expectations, the dragons had not attacked her, too busy fussing over Daenerys. In fact, it was as if they had not even noticed Sansa’s presence, which had considerably relieved her.

She knew the queen’s request was probably a show of her own power - not that Sansa needed any reminder of what the dragons could do - and yet she couldn’t help but being marvelled at the beasts. They looked like nothing could harm then, bigger than any animal she had ever seen, with their scales shining under the pale northern sun like a indestructible armour. Every child of the Seven Kingdoms had played at least once pretending to be Jaehaerys or Rhaenys Targaryen, valiant dragonriders. Still, Sansa had never even imagined one day she would be able to see a real dragon - even though she could have used a bit more distance between her and them.

“I must be honest, Your Grace. Now I can’t really fathom how Cersei’s army could be able to hurt them” she said in a low, taking into the view of Drogon’s giant form. Once again, she was struck by the marvel of being near the dragons - close enough she could have touched them if she just made a couple of steps. Not that she was going to, since she had no wish to tempt the fate even more.

“And yet it’s a possibility, as you advised in the council. The battle of the Goldroad proved that too” stated Dany, not unkindly. “My Lady, would you have done if you had my dragons? Would you have razed King’s Landing?”

Sansa’s immediate instinct was to say she would have never done something so horrible. That there were thousands of innocents in the city, women and children and simple people who had no business in the game of thrones, and that all of them would suffer for a war they were not fighting.

Yet, before she could say anything, a memory came to her mind. The crowd roaring, pleading for Ned Stark’s blood. Men and women spitting on her brave noble father, even throwing a stone at him, screaming triumphantly after Ilyn Payne had taken his head. She had hated every single one of them, wishing they could die painfully just like the King who had ordered that execution. And then again her loathing for the city and its inhabitants had raised some months later, in the riots of King’s Landing, when only the intervention from the Hound had saved her from being raped.

_Can I truly say I wouldn’t have sought vengeance, had I had the means to pursue it?_

Only then she noticed she had remained quiet for longer than she thought, and raised her eyes to meet Daenerys’s. There was a shadow of understanding in her gaze, as if she had been able to listen to her musings.

“My apologies, Lady Sansa. I didn’t think properly” said the queen. “Tyrion told some of the things that happened to you when you were a prisoner in King’s Landing. It is only understandable that you hold no love for the city.”

The Lady of Winterfell sighed, careful to not show open agreement with the queen’s statement. _I’m supposed to keep her from doing something ‘catastrophic’, as Bran said, not goad her into it. As much as I’d love to see Cersei pay for everything she did, this is not the way._

“It’s fine, Your Grace. It’s been a long time since then” she said at last. “And the people who hurt me have paid for their crimes.”

_All but one. And Gods willing she will soon join the others._

It was only then she noticed the green dragon - Rhaegal? - had moved closer, and was currently towering over her, his huge head just a few feet above hers. Sansa immediately froze, giving a horrified look to Daenerys, yet the queen didn’t say anything. It’s going to eat me now. Oh Gods.

Despite her fears, Rhaegal did not try to hurt her. The dragon simply lowered his snout to her level, and gave her a little push, strong enough to make her move from the spot, but not to hurt her. It was almost as if he was being playful… wait, could dragons do that?

“Rhaegal” said Daenerys, her voice slightly reproachful. “Leave Lady Sansa alone.”

The dragon gave a huff, his bronze eyes still focused on Sansa, who was torn between back off as fast as she could and raising a hand to touch his scales. She did neither - not daring to reach for the dragon, and at the same time unable to move from the spot. After what seemed the longest moment of her life, Rhaegal turned, and went back to his brother.

“My apologies. Usually he’s quite reserved, but perhaps he found your smell similar to Jon’s” continued the queen. “I hope he didn’t scare you too much.”

 _He scared me to death, and yet I almost regret I didn’t touch him,_ thought Sansa. _I can’t wait to tell Arya about this. She’ll be so jealous._

“Just a bit” she admitted, knowing there wouldn’t be any sense in denying that. “Now I understand how people felt with all our direwolves around. For us they were a part of the family, but everyone else was terrified. I guess now it’s my turn to be scared” concluded the Lady of Winterfell, gaining a smile from Daenerys.

“I’m glad you think so. I know they can be terrifying, but for me… they’re my children. They couldn’t frighten me any more than Ghost could with you.”

There was something wistful in Daenerys’ voice, almost melancholic, and for a moment Sansa was on the verge of asking the reason for that. And yet she felt it wasn’t her place to question the queen… not yet at least, not when their relationship was still far from being friendly.

Before she could take a decision, a sudden sound in the forest attracted her attention, and both Sansa and the queen turned to its origin. It was a small squad of armed men, led by Brienne and Jaime Lannister. Sansa realised immediately they must have came looking for her, and raised a hand to reassure her sworn shield. The group slowed their pace, but ever from afar, the Lady of Winterfell could see their open tension at her closeness with the dragons.

“I fear it’s time to go back to our duties, Your Grace” she said.

“That is quite unfortunate, but true” sighed Daenerys. “We shall part ways, Lady Sansa. I’ll stay a bit longer with Drogon and Rhaegal.”

Sansa nodded. “Would you like me to leave some of my men here waiting for you? The walk to Winterfell is quite short, but I’d rather not take any risk.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The two of them exchanged a tentative smile, and only then Sansa noticed a part of her was almost regretting having to leave now. She had enjoyed the time spent with the queen more than she had expected, and had a feeling she was one step closer to sort the mistery Daenerys Targaryen was. And, judging by the shadow of disappointment in the queen’s eyes, she probably felt the same.

 _Who knows. If only things had been different, we could have become friends,_ she thought with a bit of regret.

“Thank you for the company, Lady Sansa. I appreciated our talk.”

Sansa tilted her head. “The pleasure was mine, Your Grace” she replied, for once being completely honest. “And I look forward to our next conversation. I am sure we’ll have many occasions in the days that will come.”

 

____________________________

 

The walk back to Winterfell would have normally been long enough for Sansa to get lost in her thoughts, and yet she had not been able to think in peace even for a moment - courtesy of a quite chattering Kingslayer, who apparently was dead-set on sharing his opinion about _everything_.

“Who would have thought the dragons would have charmed yet another Stark.”

Sansa almost rolled her eyes, feeling Jaime grin through his sardonic tone. The young Stark sighed, fighting the urge to give him a most suitable response, and reminded herself for the umpteen time that the Kingslayer was a guest of Winterfell; as such, she couldn’t have him thrown from the walls, even if the thought was become more and more appealing.

“Well, we better get used to them” she mumbled. “The queen will be our esteemed guest for longer than we originally thought. Though you might want to steer away from her dragons, Ser Jaime, since you’re not as necessary as you were before. Who knows, they might confuse you for their meal.”

There were a couple of coughs behind her, as if someone had tried to keep themselves from laughing, and Sansa didn’t have to turn to know that some of the guards had been amused by that statement. Unfortunately, judging by Jaime’s smile, he didn’t look particularly concerned with the menace.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’m threatened by an overgrown pet, my Lady. I can still remember when your brother introduced me to his direwolf” said Jaime, receiving a blatant eye roll from both Sansa and Brienne. “Huge beast. Loads of teeth. I was pretty sure I was going to be his dinner.”

Sansa’s expression broke into a nostalgic smile. She could see Robb as if he were right there in front of her - her brave brother, dressed in northern clad and flanked by Greywind, staring at his enemy with eyes as cold as the North itself. _I miss him so much sometimes._

“Probably King Robb’s direwolf would have found you indigestible” commented Brienne, perhaps noticing how she had been lost in her thoughts. “After all, you were a complete ass back then.”

“He still is” muttered Sansa. The Kingslayer laughed, and even some of the guards behind them openly snickered at the response.

“Well played, Lady Sansa. You are definitely your mother’s daughter…” said the man with another light chuckle, before turning serious. “My Lady, once we are back in Winterfell, I would like to have a word with you. In private.”

 

____________________________

 

As soon as they went back to Winterfell, Jaime had brought Sansa and Brienne into an empty room, and had informed the two about the conversation he has with the queen the day before. Needless to say, Sansa had been astonished by the discovery.

“A child of rape…” mumbled Sansa. “And she didn’t know? How is that possible?”

Jaime scrolled his shoulders, without dropping the seriousness from his expression. “She seemed aware of some of the things her father did - such as burning your grandfather alive…”

“It’s not exactly a secret” muttered Sansa.

“… Yet apparently she was not informed of the extent of Aerys’s crimes, especially the ones against his own family” continued the Kingslayer, as if she had not said anything. “Perhaps she was too young when ser William Darry, the Kingsguard who was supposed to protect her and Viserys, died. And her brother was often shielded by queen Rhaella from all the madness happening around them. I believe she really didn’t know… and she was horrified by the discovery.”

“Your brother is her Hand, Ser Jaime. Shouldn’t he have informed her?”

“Tyrion was but a babe when I joined the Kingsguard. Everything he knows is from what I told him… including some secrets I asked to keep for himself” replied Jaime, shaking his head curtly. “Yet there is someone else who witnessed Aerys’s madness, and chose to not reveal it to the queen…”

“Varys” murmured Brienne, finally breaking her silence. “The Spider was Aerys’s Master of Whisperers. Surely he knows what was happening at the court.”

“And yet he shielded Daenerys from the truth” observed Sansa. “Perhaps even hid it from her. Why?”

The three remained silent for a few moments, and Sansa mused on the discovery. It didn’t make sense. Daenerys was a foreigner to the Seven Kingdoms, and she needed to be prepared to the challenges of ruling. Surely Tyrion and Varys had foreseen the possibility of most of the Lords seeking justice for her family’s crimes… and yet they had not instructed her properly on the extent of those sins. It was almost as if she was being set to fail, for who could respect a liege who knew nothing of their kingdom?

She knew she was missing some important detail, and not for the first time Sansa wondered about the Spider’s true motives. Why did he really want Daenerys on the throne? If he wished for power, surely Tommen would have been a much more malleable king, being so young and amenable, than a Targaryen girl with three dragons. It certainly couldn’t be because of loyalty to her House, not after serving Robert Baratheon for almost two decades. Then what? Why did he threw away the peace they could have achieved with Tommen to help Daenerys?

 _There’s no use in speculations,_ she decided at last. _I already knew he is not an ally of the North. Still, it will be useful to find why he’s supporting Daenerys and what he did to prepare her. If I destroy any last piece of trust she has in him… it could be the breakthrough I was looking for._

“We need more information” she declared, turning her gaze on the Kingslayer. “Ser Jaime, speak with your brother. See if you can find anything about Varys’s motives and how he came into her service… but be discreet.”

If Jaime had been surprised by her request, he did not show it, for he simply gave her a half bow and a nod. “I will, my Lady.”

 

____________________________

 

“May I say that I respectfully disagree with this decision?”

Daenerys exhaled a long sigh, fighting to keep in check her growing exasperation. “Duly noted, my Lord. Just as the two previous time you said it.”

There was a uncomfortable flicker on Varys’s face, yet he did not drop his fighting expression. The queen had finally informed all her advisors of the next course of action; needless to say, they were less than pleased about the development, and both the Spider and Tyrion had been quite vocal in sharing their opinion. Missandei and Grey Worm had yet to say anything, but judging by their expressions she could see they were not particularly satisfied of the plan.

_Not that I expected anything different, but it would have been nice to be positively surprised for once in my life._

“Your Grace, there is absolutely no need for you to stay here” insisted Tyrion, not at all deterred by her blatant annoyance. ”The North will handle this matter internally, as they always did. Sansa is Jon’s regent, she’s perfectly entitled to judge one of their Lords, and probably the best person for that. We must not forget the North sees us as foreigners. They will not appreciate our involvement in the matter.”

She felt a new surge of displeasure at being reminded once again that she was an outsider. She was completely aware of that - there was no need to keep repeating it, as if she was a stupid child who couldn’t grasp the concept.

“My ancestor Alysanne was a southron just like me, and yet she held court in Winterfell. Through her efforts she gained the admiration and loyalty of the North. You have often pointed out the importance of this reign, Lord Tyrion. How am I supposed to rule over the Seven Kingdoms if I leave the North without binding it to our cause? Jon is loyal and true, but how can I leave knowing his heir is not?” she asked stubbornly. “And pray tell, my Lords. What reasons could she have to convince me to stay if I wasn’t truly needed? Do you believe she will try to hurt me?”

Tyrion gave her a low, exasperated sigh. “Surely not, Your Grace, even though one could say Littlefinger didn’t exactly enjoy his time in Winterfell…”

The sole mention of Littlefinger was enough to throw Daenerys dangerously close over the limit of her patience. How dare Tyrion compare her to that evil man?

“Petyr Baelish reaped what he sowed, Tyrion” she replied. “And I believe my predicament is quite different from his. I will order some of my Dothraki warriors to stay in Winterfell with me, if that makes you more at ease, and both Drogon and Rhaegal will leave only once I do. I don’t believe there’s any cause for worrying.”

Tyrion and Varys exchanged a look, and Daenerys saw immediately the warning in the eyes of his Hand. It was as if he was cautioning the Master of Whisperers from pressing the matter further - and that made her just more furious.

“Accidents can happen, Your Grace” continued the Spider, cautiously. “I am not saying something will happen, yet it’s a risk we should not discharge. Is it wise to let yourself open to such possibility? Especially when nothing is set in stone about your successor…”

“My Lord, if I hear one more word about my succession the only thing we’ll need to discuss next is your replacement” interrupted Daenerys, gritting her teeth. She had already made it clear she would not debate her heir, or lack of thereof, for the moment - why couldn’t Varys just drop the matter, rather than insisting on it? “Lord Tyrion, I accepted their bread and salt and drank their mead. You were the one who taught me what that means. And now you’re telling me the Starks could forsake one of the most ancients laws of Westeros?”

Tyrion raised his hands, making a gesture as if to pacify her. “That is not what I am saying, Your Grace. What I mean is that this request seems quite suspicious, and that I would like to discuss it with Lady Sansa before we involve ourselves into northern politics.”

“If it’s really so important to you, feel free to speak with Lady Sansa. But mind yourself, Lord Tyrion: if I hear one word of complaint from her I will _not_ be pleased” she replied curtly. “Jon himself said I was needed. Whatever their reasons might be, I will seize this chance to bind the North to our cause. And if in order to do that I need to spend a few weeks in Winterfell playing nice with Sansa, then I will do it.”

“And we do agree, Your Grace, that right now it is imperative to ensure the North’s continued loyalty” said Varys, bowing slightly. “But, as your advisors, we have a duty to share our counsel with you… and we both believe the Starks might have some ulterior motive here. We only wish to guarantee your safety.”

 _It is as if they don’t want me to be at peace with the Starks,_ thought Daenerys darkly. _For all the time Tyrion spent urging me to be less rash he seems quite wary now that a diplomatic option has been presented._

“My Lord, as you said, you two are my advisors. It is up to me to decide whether or not I should follow your suggestions” she replied, her voice bordering on being brusque. “And now I would appreciate if you both left to discuss logistics with Ser Davos, instead of wasting any more time trying to convince me that I need to change my mind.”

Despite their displeased expressions, Varys and Tyrion bowed and finally left the room. Daenerys released a long and tired sigh, knowing fully well they were probably going to discuss at length the latest development, and possibly find new ways to disappoint her. She had not even mentioned one of them would need to stay in Winterfell with her - their protests had began almost the moment she had started talking, and she was half in mind to send both of them with the main body of the army.

“Missandei, Grey Worm. What do you think about this?” she asked, seeking the opinion of the her most trusted advisors.

The couple exchanged a look, hesitancy clear in Missandei’s eyes. “I cannot say, Your Grace” offered her translator after a few seconds. “Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys seem sure that something is not right. But from the moment we came here, everyone kept saying the North is different from the other reigns… that we could not understand them. And I don’t. I might understand their language, but we know nothing of their ways, their traditions.”

“Jorah would have been useful” muttered Grey Worm, looking increasingly worried. “Maybe Sansa wishes for peace, now that she sees your power. Or maybe she seeks something else. Are you sure you can trust Jon Snow, my Queen?”

“You’re right, my friends. I truly cannot understand them” sighed Daenerys. “And yes, Grey Worm, I trust Jon. He has proven his loyalty to me, and he’s a honorable man, just like Ser Barristan was. Men like them wouldn’t betray their words easily, and wouldn’t resort to tricks and deceits to fight. And I trust Sansa too, to a certain extent.”

“You… do?” asked cautiously Missandei, without looking particularly convinced.

Daenerys nodded. “Yes. I don’t trust how she feels about me or our cause, but I trust she’s loyal to her people and her family. I trust she wouldn’t do something that could endanger any of them. And for now I believe it will be enough.”

Her statement was followed by a moment of silence, and Daenerys saw the uncertainty in her friends’ eyes thaw a bit. _I do understand their reservations, of course. Still, I would have expected a different approach from someone who is just waiting to stab me in the back._

“My Queen, you trusted Daario when he swore fealty to you, and he gave you Yunkai as he promised. You took ser Jorah back into your service after he betrayed you, and he sacrificed his life to save yours” said Missandei. “If your instinct tells you to stay, then we will support your decision.”

“And we will protect you” promised her commander. “You have proven many times you can earn the loyalty of those who once fought against you. And if you can’t, then they will know the fury of the Targaryen queen.”

Daenerys nodded, lowering her gaze for a moment, deeply touched by the trust they kept putting in her. She had dragged them on the other side of the world, to a foreign place that had done nothing to welcome them, to fight a war against monsters, and yet they still had faith in her. One day I will repay them tenfold, she swore.

“Thank you, Missandei, Grey Worm” she said, her voice low but charged with emotion. “I am quite lucky to have you as my advisors… and to be able to call you friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. I know it's been ages!
> 
> I had a friend review the next chapters and outline of the story, and she pointed out some issues with the future plot. I didn't want to publish this chapter before I ironed those issues, and between life and everything it took a few months before I was comfortable with what I wrote. I am also going to change some stuff in the previous chapters too - nothing too heavy, just a couple things that needed to be tweaked.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It was about time for another Sansa/Dany conversation, but of course there will be more in the future ;) There's one thing I would like to ensure it's clear. While sometimes it might seems as if I'm villainizing a character (as you can see in this chapter with Varys and Tyrion) I'm not. The POV I use are the ones of Sansa/Dany; they are not omniscient narrators, and their personality sometimes might lead them to believe an action means something different from the reality. In Dany's case, since she trusts Jon and is trying to be better than her father, but as the same time is a bit paranoid, she ends up thinking her advisors might be working against her. 
> 
> I hope to be able to give you a follow up chapter soon - right now like most of people in Europe I'm quarantined, so it's not like there's much I can do apart from writing. Stay safe and thank you for reading, feel free to share your opinion on this chapter!


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